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THE 


AMERICAN   MECHANIC 


AND 


WORKING-MAN. 


BY  JAMES  W.  ALEXANDER. 


IN   TWO    VOLUMES. 


VOL.  L 


PHILADELPHIA: 

WILLIAM  S.  MARTIEN. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  tlie  year 
1847,  by  William  S.  Martien,  in  the  Clerk's  Office 
of  the  District  Court  for  the  Eastern  District  of  Penn- 
eylvania. 


SRLF 
URL 


PREFACE. 

It  is  now  some  years  since  these  unpretending 
volumes  were  first  published,  under  the  some- 
what whimsical  name  of  Charles  Quill. 
The  truth  is,  this  was  no  more  than  a  signa- 
ture adopted  in  writing  for  a  newspaper,  and 
the  title  had  become  familiar  to  the  class  of 
persons  whose  benefit  was  sought.  Besides, 
the  author  doubted  whether  the  name  of  a 
clergyman  would  add  any  currency  to  lucu- 
brations on  such  a  subject. 

To  the  great  surprise  of  the  writer,  the 
books  met  with  a  ready  sale,  and  the  earlier 
one,  at  least,  passed  through  three  editions. 
It  is  no  more  than  justice  to  say,  that  they 
owed  much  of  their  favour  with  the  public 
to  the  valuable  journal  in  which  they  at  first 
appeared,  and  to  its  editor,  Mr.  William  B. 
Kinney.  That  they  never  became  part  of 
the  current  of  literature,  is  not  to  be  wonder- 
1 


2  PREFACE. 

ed  at:  it  is  believed  that  they  were  not  lost 
upon  those  for  whom  they  were  intended. 

In  offering  a  revised  edition,  the  author 
begs  leave  to  say  once  more,  that  his  purpose 
will  be  answered,  if  these  little  volumes  shall 
be  read  with  pleasure  in  the  shop  of  the  me- 
chanic, during  intervals  of  labour,  or  in  the 
evening  when  work  is  over.  As  the  title 
shows,  this  is  an  offering  to  the  working-man. 
The  apprentice,  the  journeyman,  and  the 
master-mechanic  will  here  find  recreation  and 
perhaps  improvement.  But  it  aims  not  so 
much  at  systematic  instruction,  as  to  quicken, 
to  cheer,  and  to  amuse. 

It  is  no  part  of  the  plan  of  the  work  to 
bring  down  every  thing  to  the  level  of  the 
meanest  capacity.  Were  this  attempted,  it 
would  be  lost  upon  the  stupid  and  ignorant; 
while  to  persons  of  sense  and  improvement,  all 
that  is  said  will  be  clear  enough,  without  any 
such  degradation  of  the  style.  Even  chil- 
dren are  offended  with  the  extreme  of  forced 
simplicity ;  especially  as  some  of  them  know 
that  if  they  never  hear  a  hard  word,  they 
will  never  get  beyond  the  easy  ones.    All 


pftxrAcir.  3 

our  knowledge  is  gained  by  mingling  things 
yet  unknown  with  such  as  are  known  al- 
ready. It  is  thus  we  learn  both  to  talk  and 
to  read.  To  attempt  nothing  but  what  is 
known,  is  to  shun  the  water  till  one  has  learn- 
ed to  swim.  In  this  persuasion,  the  author 
has  not  scrupled  to  introduce  some  things  for 
the  special  benefit  of  more  advanced  readers  j 
as,  for  example,  the  short  essays  on  the  cul- 
tivation of  memory.  For  the  same  reason, 
a  pretty  free  use  has  been  made  of  the  stores 
of  English  poetry.  The  working-man,  na 
less  than  others,  has  a  right  to  these  treasures 
of  his  mother  tongue,  and  may  enjoy  them 
with  the  greater  freedom,  as  they  require  no 
previous  scientific  training  to  make  them  in- 
telligible. 

If,  unhappily,  the  book  should  fall  into  the 
hands  of  any  exceedingly  grave  critics,  of 
such  'vinegar  aspect',  as  to  be  scandalized  by 
its  occasional  playfulness,  the  author  will  en- 
deavoiur  to  be  more  staid  in  his  future  la- 
bours; remembering  Bos  well's  famous  an* 
ecdote.  It  is  related  of  the  great  Dr.  Clarke, 
that  when  in  one  of  his  leisure  hours  he  was 


4  PREFACE. 

unbending  himself  with  a  few  friends  in  the 
most  playful  and  frolicsome  manner,  he  ob- 
served Beau  Nash  approaching,  upon  which 
he  suddenly  stopped; — "My  boys  (said  he) 
let  us  be  grave ;  here  comes  a  fool." 

Every  page  has  been  written  with  a  most 
serious  intent,  and  with  a  wish  to  see  Amer- 
ican working-men  elevated  in  their  own  es- 
teem, as  the  surest  method  towards  their  ele- 
vation in  the  esteem  of  others.  Men  who 
have  so  large  a  share  in  the  government  of 
the  country,  and  who,  from  their  facilities  of 
intercourse,  act  so  much  in  masses,  deserve 
special  attention  from  the  philosopher  and  the 
statesman.  Let  the  reader  of  these  pages 
consider  himself  as  in  every  sentence  address- 
ed by  a  hearty  friend;  for  they  have  been 
thrown  before  the  public  with  warm  wishes 
in  behalf  of  those  whom  the  author  seeks  as 
his  readers.  They  are  therefore  dedicated 
TO  THE  Master-workmen,  Journeymen, 
AND  Apprentices  op  America,  by  their 
wellwisher, 

J.  W.A. 


CONTENTS. 


I.  The  Working-man's  Home 9 

II.  The  Working-man's  Dwelling 14 

III.  The  Working-man's  Garden  and  Grounds. ...  19 

IV.  Husband  and  Wife 27 

V,  The  Wife  at  Home 32 

VI.  The  Working-man's  Daughter 38 

VII.  The  Schoolmaster 45 

Vni.  The  Schoolmaster,  continued 50 

DC.  Early  Reading 65 

X.  Reading  for  Beginners 60 

XL  Reading  for  Entertainment 65 

Xn.  The  Working-man  in  search  of  Knowledge. .  71 

Xm.  Study  by  Stealth 78 

XIV.  The  Art  of  Drawing  valuable  to  Mechanics. .  85 

XV.  The  Cultivation  of  Memory 94 

XVI.  The  Cultivation  of  Memory,  continued 101 

XVII.  The  Working-man's  Journeys 108 

XVIII.  Apprentices 114 

XIX.  Trades' Unions 130 

XX.  Trades'  Unions,  continued 124 

XXL  The  Working-man's  Liberties 130 

7 


5  CONTENTS. 

XXII.  The  Working-man  in  a  strange  land. . . .  135 

XXIII.  Advantages  of  American  Working-men .  139 

XXIV.  The  Village  Talker 144 

XXV.  The  Pleasures  of  the  Table 149 

XXVI.  Drinking  and  Drunkenness 155 

XXVII.  The  Working-man's  Health 161 

XXVni.  Baths  and  Cleanliness 167 

XXEX.  Intemperance  and  Disease 175 

XXX.  Money 183 

2CXXI.  Risks  and  Speculations 188 

XXX II.  The  Working-man  in  Want 197 

XXXIII.  The  VUlage  Revisited 202 

XXXrV.  The  Contented  Working-man 209 

XXXV.  Who  is  the  Working-man? 215 

XXXVI.  Home  Pleasures 224 

XXXVII.  The  Working-man's  Evenings  at  Home.  233 

XXXVIII.  The  Working-man  in  the  Country 238 

XXXIX.  The  Working-man's  Saturday  Evening.  243 

XL.  The  Unstable  Working-man 249 

XLI.  The  Working-man's  good  Works 258 

XLn.  The  Working-man's  Rest 264 

XLIIL  The  Working-man  retired  from  Business  270 

XLIV.  The  Working-man  in  old  Age 275 

XLV.  Conclusioa 284 


THE 

WORKING-MAN. 


I. 


THE    WORKING-MAN  S    HOME. 

"  Tell  me  on  what  holy  ground 
May  domestic  peace  be  found  1 
Halcyon  daughter  of  the  skies, 
Far  on  fearful  wings  she  flies 
From  the  pomp  of  sceptred  state, 
From  the  rebel's  noisy  hate." 

C0LEBID6E. 

There  is  a  peculiar  zest  in  the  working-man's 
enjoyment  of  home.  After  weariness  both  of  body 
and  mind,  he  has  a  refuge  at  the  close  of  the  day— 

"  Dear  tranquil  time,  when  the  sweet  sense  of  home 
Is  sweetest."* 

There  are  languages,  it  is  said,  in  which  there 
is  no  such  word  as  Home  :  in  our  mother  tongue 
there  is  none  more  pregnant.  It  marks  the  sacred 
spot  to  which  the  cares  and  tumult  of  the  world 

•  Coleridge.  ^-■ 

9 


10  THE    WORKING-MAN. 

do  not  reach ;  and  where,  except  in  cases  of  ex- 
treme depravity,  its  vices  do  not  intrude.  If  there 
are  gentle  affections  in  the  heart,  they  will  break 
forth  around  the  hearthstone ;  if  there  is  an  hour 
of  tranquillity  amidst  perturbed  life,  it  will  be  that 
which  is  spent  with  wife  and  children ;  if  there 
is  such  a  thing  as  friendship  or  love,  it  will  be 
developed  among  these  dearest  associates. 

Homeless  men  are  seldom  happy.  If  it  was 
not  good  for  man  to  be  alone,  even  in  Eden,  it  is 
bad  indeed  to  be  alone  in  such  a  fallen  world  as 
ours.  But  I  will  go  farther,  and  assert  the  moral 
influences  of  domestic  institutions.  As  it  regards 
public  offences,  the  man  who  has  a  wife  and  child- 
ren has  by  just  so  much  a  greater  stake  in  society. 
He  has  much  both  to  gain  and  to  lose.  He  can- 
not rise  or  fall  alone.  As  it  regards  private  virtue, 
it  depends  much  on  the  kindly  affections,  and  these 
are  in  their  very  shrine  in  the  family  circle.  I 
think  I  have  observed  that  when  a  man  begins  to 
go  astray,  he  becomes  less  fond  of  home.  The 
quiet  look  of  the  wife  speaks  daggers  to  his  guilty 
conscience.  The  caresses  of  children  are  so  many 
reproaches  to  the  man  who  knows  that  he  is 
wasting  their  very  livelihood  by  his  habits  of  dis- 
sipation. I  think  I  have  observed  that  the  most 
rude  and  quarrelsome  men  are  orderly  and  quiet 
when  they  go  abroad  with  their  wives  and  child  • 
ren.  Such  is  the  safeguard  of  virtue  which  is  fur 
nished  by  the  influences  of  home. 


THE   working-man's    HOME.  11 

I  would  have  the  home  of  the  working-man  his 
most  delightful  resort.  To  be  so,  it  should  be 
pleasing,  even  its  outside.  Why  should  it  not  be 
a  well-proportioned  cottage,  with  its  windows 
overhung  by  sweetbrier  and  honeysuckle,  and  its 
roof  shaded  by  spreading  trees  ?  Why  should 
not  the  litde  door-yard  be  carpeted  with  grass, 
and  hedged  with  shrubbery?  These  are  not 
luxuries  of  the  rich  alone.  Yet  it  is  too  common 
for  people  to  think  that  because  they  are  poor 
they  must  be  slovenly  and  dirty.  A  little  white- 
wash, a  little  paint,  a  little  turfing,  and  a  few  days 
of  labour  about  the  vines  and  flowers,  will  serve 
to  change  the  whole  appearance  of  the  humblest 
enclosure. 

But  let  us  enter  the  working-man's  house ;  and 
in  order  to  meet  the  extremest  objection,  I  am 
supposing  the  case  of  the  poorest.  The  walls 
should  be  white,  the  floors  and  wood-work  should 
be  scoured,  the  movables  should  be  in  their  places, 
and  no  unsighdy  utensil  should  be  more  conspi- 
cuous than  necessity  requires.  These  are  exter- 
nals, but  they  bear  direcdy  upon  what  is  more 
inward  and  more  valuable.  Everybody  is  more 
cheerful  in  a  neat  than  in  a  disorderly  room. 
When  work  is  over,  and  every  thing  in  its  place, 
the  visiter  is  more  welcome,  the  husband's  look 
is  brighter,  and  an  affectionate  flow  spreads  itself 
through  the  circle. 

The  difference  between  England  and  America 


12  THE    WORKINGt-MAN. 

on  the  one  hand,  and  the  southern  countries  of 
Europe  on  the  other,  is  founded  in  a  good  mea- 
sure on  the  homes  of  the  former,  and  the  absence 
of  them  in  the  latter.  The  common  law  has  ac- 
knowledged the  principle,  that  every  man's  house 
is  his  castle.  It  is  true  in  more  senses  than  one. 
Home  is  the  citadel  of  all  the  virtues  of  the  people. 
For  by  home  we  mean  something  more  than  one's 
house  :  it  is  the  family  that  makes  the  home.  It 
is  the  peculiar  abode  and  domain  of  the  wife : 
and  this  one  circumstance  marks  it  out  as 
human,  and  as  Christian.  Sacred  wedlock  is 
the  fountain  not  only  of  its  pleasures  but  of  its 
moral  excellence.  The  poorest  wretch  who  has 
a  virtuous,  sensible,  industrious,  and  affectionate 
■wife,  is  a  man  of  wealth.  Home  is  the  abode  of 
our  children.  Here  they  meet  us  with  their  smiles 
and  prattle.  He  who  unfeignedly  enjoys  this 
cannot  be  altogether  corrupt;  and  the  more  we 
can  make  men  «njoy  it,  the  further  do  we  remove 
them  out  of  liarm's  way.  No  men  therefore  are 
better  members  of  society,  or  more  apt  to  become 
stable  and  wealthy  citizens,  than  such  as  are  well 
married  and  well  setded. 

A  learned  foreigner  of  Spanish  descent,  of  high 
distinction  in  the  politics  of  his  own  country,  was 
once  leaving  the  doors  of  a  pleasant  family,  in 
New  England,  where  he  had  been  spending  an 
evening.  He  had  observed  the  Sabbath  calm  of 
the  little  circle — its  sequestered  safety  and  inde- 


THE   W0RK1N€^-MAN'S   HOME.  IS 

pendence ;  he  had  marked  the  freedom  of  affec- 
tionate intercourse  between  parents,  and  children, 
and  friends,  the  cordial  hospitality,  and  the  refer- 
ence of  every  thing  abroad  to  this  central  spot  of 
home.  As  he  retired  from  the  lovely  scene,  he 
exclaimed,  with  a  sort  of  transport,  "  Now  I  have 
the  secret  of  your  national  virtue,  and  intelligence, 
and  order ;  it  is  in  these  domestic  retreats  !" 

"  Domestic  happiness,  thou  only  bliss 
Of  Paradise  that  has  survived  the  fall ! 
Though  few  now  taste  thee  unimpair'd  and  pure, 
Or,  tasting,  long  enjoy  thee !  too  infirm 
Or  too  incautious  to  preserve  thy  sweets 
Unmix'd  with  drops  of  bitter,  which  neglect 
Or  temper  sheds  into  thy  crystal  cup ; 
Thou  art  the  nurse  of  Virtue,  in  thine  arms 
She  smiles,  appearing,  as  in  truth  she  is, 
Heaven-bora,  and  destined  to  the  skies  again  !"* 


•  Cowpcr. 


Ji  THE    WORKING-MAN. 


II. 


■  THB   WORKING-MAN  S    DWELLING. 

"  When  we  mean  to  build, 
We  first  survey  the  plat,  then  draw  the  model ; 
And  when  we  see  the  figure  of  the  house, 
Then  must  we  vote  the  cost  of  the  erection." 

King  Henri/  IV.  part  2. 

There  is  such  a  satisfaction  in  having  a  house 
ot  one's  own,  that  most  Americans  begin  to  think 
of  building  as  soon  as  they  are  rich  enough.  It 
is  proverbial  that  this  becomes  a  mania,  even  in 
the  country,  with  men  of  wealth  In  quantity, 
therefore,  we  have  no  lack ;  the  defects  are  in  the 
quality  of  our  architecture.  For  want  of  observing 
the  plain  dictate  of  reason  contained  in  my  motto, 
many  great  houses  are  finished  less  splendidly 
than  they  were  begun.  As  I  seldom  take  a  walk 
without  seeing  the  dwelling  of  some  mechanic 
going  forward,  I  am  anxious  to  make  a  few  sug- 
gestions on  this  point. 

A  good  site  is  almost  every  thing:  in  such  a 
land  as  ours,  few  are  compelled  to  build  in  bad 
situations.  Yet  half  the  houses  we  see  in  the 
country  are  disadvantageously  placed.  How  little 
advantage  is  taken  of  native  groves  !     I  have  in 


THE    working-man's    DWELLING.         15 

my  eye  a  very  costly  edifice,  just  near  enough  to 
a  beautiful  copse  to  tempt  the  belief  that  the  pro- 
prietor wished  to  avoid  its  shades,  while  he  is 
making  a  strenuous  effort  to  bring  forward  some 
starveling  trees  in  a  miserable  clay  before  his  door ! 
The  general  design  is  next  in  importance :  this  is 
what  strikes  the  distant  beholder.  The  eye  is 
shocked  when,  in  a  clever  building,  the  door  has 
three  windows  on  one  side  and  five  on  the  other. 
The  proportions  of  length  and  height,  the  pitch 
of  roof,  the. number,  and  size,  and  arrangement 
of  lights,  are  all  matters  which  demand  careful 
study,  in  order  to  produce  a  good  eflfect ;  but  in 
most  cases  they  are  left  to  chance  or  whim.  Sym- 
metry is  as  cheap  as  disproportion,  and  rich  men 
should  not  monopolize  all  neatness  and  taste.  A 
good  plan  gives  beauty  to  the  plainest  materials, 
while  no  expense  can  render  a  false  proportion 
elegant.  A  weU-designed  cottage,  of  the  humblest 
dimensions  and  simplest  fabric,  fills  the  eye,  and 
gives  repose  to  the  mind.  But  finery  cannot  hide 
bad  taste ;  it  oftener  betrays  it.  We  may  here 
apply  Crabbe's  couplet — 

"  Faults  that  in  dusty  pictures  rest  unknown, 
Are  in  an  instant  through  the  varnish  shovrn."' 

Men  who  come  suddenly  to  wealth  are  greatly  in 
danger  of  falling  into  this  trap.  The  showy  iu 
architecture  is  usually  coupled  with  the  vulgar; 
just  as  in  dress  the  finest  are  not  the  truly  well- 


16  THE    WORKING-MAN. 

bred.     Pope  has  satirized  this  abuse  of  orna- 
ment: 

"  Load  some  vain  church  with  old  theatric  state 
Turn  arcs  of  triumph  to  a  garden  gate ; 
Reverse  your  ornaments,  and  hang  them  all 
On  some  patch'd  dog-hole  eked  with  ends  of  wall 

"  Then  clap  four  slices  of  pilaster  on't, 
That  laced  with  bits  of  rustic  makes  a  front ; 
Shall  call  the  winds  through  long  arcades  to  roar, 
Proud  to  catch  cold  at  a  Venetian  door." 

Some  of  our  builders,  I  hope,  will  read  these 
essays :  their  influence  is  of  great  moment.  If 
well  instructed,  they  will  tell  such  as  apply  to 
them,  that  the  word  Architecture  is  not  confined 
to  the  massy  piles  of  public  edifices,  but  that  the 
very  same  principles  which  draught  the  Birming- 
ham Town  Hall,  or  the  Madelaine,  can  descend 
to  plan  the  cottage,  or  the  rustic  bridge.  These 
principles  ought  to  be  studied,  not  only  in  our 
colleges,  but  our  lyceums  and  other  institutions 
for  the  instruction  of  working-men.  Books  of 
architectural  plans  should  be  compiled  and  abstract- 
ed from  the  more  costly  European  publications. 
I  am  sure  any  one  who  is  familiar  with  the  Tailor^ s 
Magazine,  will  grant  that  there  is  no  insuperable 
obstacle  in  the  way  of  a  builder's  periodical.  And 
not  architects  alone,  but  all  planners  and  pro- 
prietors should  familiarize  their  eye  to  the  con- 
templation of  good  models. 


THE    working-man's   DWELLING.         17 

The  day  it  is  to  be  hoped  will  come,  when  even 
the  day-labourer  will  not  think  it  necessary  to  be 
slovenly  because  he  is  poor,  and  when  the  most 
incessant  drudges  shall  begin  to  see  that  there  are 
some  good  things  besides  coin  and  bank-notes. 
The  practical  man  whose  views  are  enlarged  will 
not  fail  to  see  that  pleasures  of  imagination  and 
taste  have  also  their  price.  Decoration  naturally 
comes  after  use ;  we  build  our  houses  before  we 
deck  them.  But  in  the  advancement  of  society, 
there  is  a  stage  at  which  men  always  set  a  value 
upon  ornament ;  and  though  these  circumstances 
may  breed  luxury,  they  have  fruits  which  are 
desirable,  such  as  increased  contentment,  placid 
joy,  refined  taste,  cheerful  reflection,  and  the  love 
of  home. 

Along  the  bank  of  a  half-finished  canal  I  saw, 
the  other  day,  a  settlement,  which,  at  a  furlong's 
distance,  showed  the  origin  of  its  tenants.  Ex- 
temporaneous huts,  barrel  chimneys,  floors  with- 
out boards,  windows  without  glass,  and  a  dunghill 
at  the  entrance ;  these  afforded  the  symptoms  of  a 
hovel.  Here  was  no  decoration ;  and  I  argue 
concerning  this  settlement,  that  there  are  no  intel- 
lectual pleasures,  no  taste,  no  gentleness,  no  fire- 
side happiness. 

Let  me  change  the  scene.     I  knew  a  family  of 

English  people,  no  richer  than  those  just  noticed, 

who  lived  in  a  dwelling  no  larger  than  one  of 

these— but  how  different !    I  see  it  yet  in  memory, 

2* 


18  THE    WORKING-MAN. 

its  whitened  palings  and  beaten  walk  to  the  door, 
its  tight  sides  and  close  roof,  and  especially  its 
edge  of  summer  flowers  around  a  plot  of  the  clean- 
est grass,  and  its  roses  and  woodbine  creeping 
over  every  window.  They  were  poor,  but  they 
were  tidy.  More  than  this ;  they  were  fond  of 
natural  beauty,  and  fond  of  home,  and  therefore 
always  aiming  to  make  home  lovely. 

Every  reader  has  many  times  seen  the  same 
thing,  and  some  have  already  learned  the  con- 
nexion between  simple  decoration  and  domestic 
virtue  and  peace.  Why  does  an  English  cottage 
strike  an  American  with  surprise  ?  Why  does  he 
look,  as  at  a  strange  thing,  upon  the  French  pea- 
santry taking  their  evening  repast  beneath  their 
trees  and  vines  ?  Because  we  Americans  are  so 
particularly  practical,  and  so  possessed  of  the 
demon  of  trade,  that  nothing  is  valuable  which 
cannot  be  sold.  Value  is  becoming  equivalent  to 
vendibility.  Valuable  means  saleable :  worth 
means  money.  If  a  flower,  or  a  hedge-row,  or  a 
cascade,  or  a  bust,  or  a  prospect,  add  to  the  price 
under  the  hammer,  these  things  are  valuable,  and 
are  straightway  inserted  in  the  lithographic  view 
of  the  auctioneer.  They  are  useful.  Usefulness 
is  that  quality  of  things  whereby  they  bring 
money. 


THE    CIARDEN   AND    GROUNDS.  19 


III. 


THE    GARDEN   AND    GROUNDS. 

"  Tall  thriving  trees  confess  the  fruitful  mould, 
The  reddening  apple  ripens  here  to  gold ; 
Here  the  blue  fig  with  luscious  juice  o'erflows, 
With  deeper  red  the  full  pomegranate  glows,  &c 
Homer's  Odyssey,  book  vii. 

It  was  certainly  an  exaggeration  of  Mrs.  Trol- 
lops to  say,  that  no  one  could  ever  hear  two 
Americans  talk  five  minutes  without  the  word 
dollar.  So  Bonaparte  exaggerated  when  he  called 
the  British  "  a  nation  of  shopkeepers."  Be  it  so. 
Caricatures  often  tell  the  truth.  Even  the  hideous 
concave  mirror,  though  it  exaggerate  ever  so  much, 
shows  me  some  grand  blemishes  of  my  face.  I 
have  tried  the  experiment,  in  walking  the  crowded 
streets  of  our  cities,  to  catch  the  predominant 
word  of  the  passers-by.  The  catalogue  is  limited, 
and  consists  of  such  as  these,  *'  Ten  per  cent." — 
"  doing  a  good  business" — "  money  market" — 
"operations  in  property" — "exchange" — "  stock" 
—  "  thousand  dollars" — "  credit" — "  profits" — 
"  fortune,"  &;c.  &c. 

If  a  man  is  so  practical  that  he  will  not  wash 
his  face  without  "  value  received,"  I  entertain  no 


£0  THE    WORKING-MA JT. 

hopes  of  bringing  him  over.  I  have  no  purchase 
for  my  instrument.  Now  cleanliness  is  a  sort  of 
decoration ;  negative,  perhaps,  but  the  condition 
of  all  the  rest.  Neatness  foUow^s  very  closely : 
a  cleanly  child  is  usually  neat.  The  cleanly 
housewife  fs  sure  to  produce  in  her  cottage  a  cer- 
tain trim  and  symmetrical  arrangement  which 
gratifies  the  eye.  This  is  neatness  budding  into 
beauty.  This  transition  ought  to  be  seized  upon 
wherever  it  appears.  The  pleasant  little  children 
who  are  yonder  playing  in  the  dust  may  be  taught 
to  keep  themselves  clean,  and  then  to  be  neat. 
This  is  the  path  towards  decoration.  Taste  needs 
development.  These  creatures  may  be  bred  to 
enjoy  ornament :  and  thus  we  may  get  a  race  of 
people,  even  among  the  poor,  who  will  begin  to 
beautify  tlie  land.  I  live  in  the  hope  of  seeing 
cottages  along  our  multiplied  and  dirty  railways, 
each  adorned  not  only  with  a  white  surface  and  a 
close  fence,  but  with  roses,  pinks,  tulips,  and  all 
the  pretty  vegetable  gifts  of  a  loving  Providence ; 
gifts  which  our  yeomanry  have  too  much  banished 
to  green-houses  and  ballads. 

The  ways  of  adorning  a  house  by  rural  aids 
are  various,  and  so  well  known  as  scarcely  to  need 
enumeration.  They  may  be  adapted  to  the  low- 
liest habitation  of  civilized  man,  no  less  than  to 
the  villa  or  the  chateau.  Nothing  but  love  for 
domestic  beauty  and  ordinary  tact  are  required  to 
rear  a  thousand  tasteful  abodes  along  all  our  high- 


THE  GARDEN  AND  GROUNDS.      21 

ways.  And  if  but  one  provident  householder  will 
begin,  we  shall  find  that,  humble  as  his  habitation 
may  be,  he  will  soon  be  imitated  by  his  neigh- 
bours. Fashion  itself,  the  cause  of  so  many  fol- 
lies, may  be  brought  in  aid  of  virtuous  enjoyment. 
Let  some  working-man  make  the  trial,  by  holding 
up  before  his  mind  rural  decoration  as  a  distinct 
object.  Let  him  secure  to  himself  a  house  and 
garden  where  he  is  willing  to  spend  his  life.  Let 
him,  as  his  means  allow,  have  it  tight  and  finished, 
and  by  all  means  duly  enclosed.  This  is  the 
frame-work ;  after  this  ensue  the  details.  Let 
him  learn  the  economy  of  a  little  timely  paint, 
and  of  a  fence  or  hedge  which  will  withstand  the 
assaults  of  wind  and  beasts.  From  day  to  day, 
as  he  may  be  able  to  snatch  a  moment  for  breathing 
the  fresh  air,  let  him  remove  unsightly  objects 
and  make  an  entrance  upon  positive  ornament. 
How  easy  it  is  to  set  out  clumps  or  rows  of  trees, 
for  shade  and  fruit,  flowering  shrubs  or  evergreen 
hedges  !  How  agreeable  to  the  wife  and  the  little 
ones,  to  be  called  out  to  join  in  dropping  the  cheap 
flower-seed  or  training  the  luxuriant  vine  ! 

To  men  whose  life  is  spent  in  labour,  the  sub- 
ject is  peculiarly  interesting.  The  confinement 
of  their  daily  toils  creates  the  want  of  just  such 
relaxation  and  refreshment  as  have  been  indicated. 
And  let  it  be  remembered  that  in  our  country  even 
the  poor  man  should  cultivate  his  taste,  because 
every  poor  man  may  look  forward  to  the  time 
when  he   shall  be  rich.     Let   him  educate  his 


22  THB    WORKING-MAN. 

faculties,  that  his  ignorance  may  not  some  day 
disgrace  his  wealth.  It  is  common  to  sneer  at 
the  mechanic,  and  to  consider  the  youth  who  be- 
comes an  apprentice  as  degraded.  This  is  very 
short-sighted.  I  know  no  class  of  society  whom 
success  makes  so  truly  independent,  or  who  in 
the  decline  of  life  have  so  much  leisure  as  mecha- 
nics. Compare  them,  in  this  respect,  with  pro- 
fessional men.  The  lawyer  or  the  physician, 
howeter  wealthy  he  may  become,  finds  still  in- 
creasing labours  ;  the  more  riches,  the  more  toil. 
Unless  he  relinquishes  his  business  altogether,  he 
must  do  the  work  himself.  He  cannot  send  his 
foreman  to  plead  a  cause,  or  to  set  a  leg ;  nor  can 
he,  like  the  rich  mechanic,  sit  in  his  parlour  or 
his  arbour,  and  know  that  all  his  great  concerns 
are  well  conducted  by  proxy.  Working-men 
should  look  to  this,  and  from  the  time  when  they 
first  enter  a  habitation  of  their  own,  should  culti* 
vate  the  delights  of  domestic  ornament. 

Among  these  ornaments,  the  highest  rank  is 
due  to  Gardening;  including  in  that  term  the 
rearing  of  valuable  trees.  Children  should  be 
early  taught  that  when  they  set  out  a  fine  tree,  or 
insert  a  graft,  they  are  doing  a  favour  to  posterity, 
and  beginning  that  which  shall  continue  to  make 
others  happy  when  they  are  in  their  graves.  It 
has  always  been  pleasant  to  me  to  see  the  house 
of  the  industrious  citizen  embowered  in  flower- 
ing vines  and  trees.  And  on  Saturday  evening, 
a  season  when  so  many  forsake  their  work  only 


THE  GARDEN  AND  GROUNDS.      23 

for  the  porter-house  or  the  tavern,  the  man  who 
possesses  such  a  retreat  will  have  a  strong  induce- 
ment to  seek  his  delightful  home,  and  meet  his 
little  household  among  the  smiles  of  natural 
scenery. 

There  are  many  very  precious  maxims  of  life 
which  need  to  be  pointed  out ;  they  are  overlooked 
by  the  mass  of  people.  Once  indicated,  they 
are  believed  and  embraced.  Among  these  is  the 
following:  Simple  ornament  hinders  no  good 
use.  The  watch  runs  as  well  in  a  comely  case, 
as  it  would  in  a  deal  box.  The  draught  is  just 
as  savoury  out  of  a  chased  tankard.  And  every 
good  of  household  life  is  unimpaired  by  nestling 
among  green  foliage,  climbing  honeysuckles,  and 
parterres  of  flowers.  I  long  to  see  this  acted  upon 
by  our  people.  I  long  to  see  them  snatching  a 
few  hours  from  the  noisy  throng  of  idlers,  and 
the  delirious  mirth  of  the  bar-room,  and  spending 
them  on  the  little  innocent  decorations  of  humble 
but  delightful  home. 

The  time  required  for  beautifying  a  house  and 
enclosure  is  really  so  little,  that  it  scarcely  admits 
of  being  brought  into  a  calculation.  A  few  minutes 
at  daybreak,  in  the  spring  and  autumn,  will  in  the 
course  of  a  year  work  wonders.  A  few  snatches 
of  time  after  labour  is  ended  may  be  spared  by  the 
busiest  man.  If  his  work  has  lain  within  doors, 
or  has  been  of  the  sedentary  kind,  a  little  exercise 
and  air,  enjoyed  in  pruning  his  hedge  or  trimming 
his  vines,  will  be  restorative  to  his  health  and 


24  THE    WORKING-MAN. 

spirits.  This  is  better  than  mere  repose.  Nature 
abhors  a  vacuum  of  employment.  Is  not  this  posi- 
tive gain  ?  Health  is  "  the  poor  man's  riches  :" 
that  which  conduces  to  it  is  worth  more  than 
money.  Even  those  who  are  athletic,  or  who 
work  at  trades  which  give  them  constant  motion, 
do  not  the  less  need  something  of  this  sort.  It  is 
not  mere  muscular  exertion  which  preserves  and 
restores  health.  There  may  be  great  bodily  effort 
with  no  better  result  than  fatigue.  What  every 
man  requires  when  the  day  is  done,  is  gentle 
recreation,  something  between  work  and  play, 
which  shall  break  the  train  of  moody  thought, 
repair  the  waste  of  nervous  elasticity,  and  put  the 
jaded  mind  in  good  humour  with  itself  and 
others. 

When  the  artizan,  after  his  evening  repast,  goes 
out  to  water  his  flowers,  every  thing  he  touches 
is  his  own  ;  and  nothing  so  much  his  own  as  the 
tree  he  planted  or  the  shades  he  gathered.  He  is 
refreshed  and  tranquillized,  and  grows  into  the 
love  of  home.  These  pleasures  are  mightily  in- 
creased, when  he  sees  around  him  his  little  child- 
ren partaking  in  his  toils  and  joys,  and  cheering 
one  another  with  the  merry  laugh  to  work  or 
sport ;  while  the  wife's  voice,  heard  within,  as 
she  sings  contentedly  over  the  cradle,  adds  a  lovely 
music  to  the  scene.  This  is  a  picture,  of  which 
the  original  may  be  found  in  many  a  poor  bn* 
happy  family ;  would  that  it  were  so  in  all !     Un- 


THE  GARDEN  AND  GROUNDS.      25 

der  such  shades  as  these,  domestic  quiet  loves  to 
dwell ;  and  in  such  a  spot  religion  finds  its  sanc- 
tuary. 

Contrast  with  this  a  case  which  we  are  often 
called  to  witness.  The  mechanic  or  labourer  has 
worked  hard  all  day.  At  the  close  of  his  toils  he 
turns  his  face  homewards.  But  he  has  not  pro- 
vided or  cherished  at  his  dwelling  any  strong 
attraction.  No  refinement  of  taste  has  ever  soft- 
ened his  spirit.  It  has  been  too  much  his  practice 
to  pass  his  leisure  hours  elsewhere.  He  feels  the 
need  of  some  relaxation.  He  is  languid  from 
fatigue,  and  sullen  from  the  disgust  of  labour.  In 
such  a  condition  he  is  easily  attracted  to  the  bar- 
room. There,  amidst  the  odours  of  liquor  and 
tobacco,  he  forgets  his  previous  listlessness  and 
anxiety,  to  become  the  victim  of  an  unnatural 
and  dangerous  excitement.  The  glass,  the  jest, 
and  the  song  make  the  evening  fly  swiftly.  Late 
at  night  he  wends  his  way  home,  if  not  drunk, 
yet  humbled,  discontented,  and  peevish.  No 
children  greet  him  with  their  joyous  laugh ;  the 
neglected  little  creatures  are  asleep,  and  the  sad 
wife  is  awake  only  through  anxious  expectation 
of  her  husband.  Am  I  extravagant  in  tracing 
much  of  the  misery  in  such  a  case  to  the  want  of 
taste  for  those  little  things  which  make  one's  home 
desirable  ?  As  a  general  observation,  I  have  never 
seen  idle  or  profligate  sons  issuing  from  within 
the  cottage  paling  which  has  been  adorned  by 
3 


86  THE    WORKING-MAN. 

their  own  infant  hands.  And,  on  the  other  hand, 
it  would  require  a  stoical  love  of  virtue  for  its  own 
sake,  to  make  any  youth  love  the  foul,  smoky, 
fenceless  cabin  of  a  thriftless  father.  Sweeten 
home,  and  you  close  nine  out  of  ten  doors  to 
temptation. 


HUSBAND   AND   WIF£.  jB7 

•     IV. 
HUSBAND    AND   WIPE. 

"  Sufficiency,  content, 
Retirement,  rural  quiet,  friendship,  books, 
Ease  and  alternate  labour,  useful  life. 
Progressive  virtue,  and  approving  Heaven  ! 
These  are  the  matchless  joys  of  virtuous  love." 

Thosisoit. 

It  is  well  known  to  all  readers  of  fiction,  that 
the  novel  commonly  ends,  as  soon  as  the  happy 
pair  are  united  at  the  altar ;  and  it  would  be  thought 
a  singular  romance  in  which  the  interest  should 
be  made  to  turn  mainly  upon  the  pleasures  of 
married  life.  But  whatever  it  may  be  in  fiction, 
wedlock  is  the  source  of  the  richest  happiness  in 
real  life.  Its  joys  indeed  are  not  of  the  sort  which 
the  novelist  loves  to  dwell  on ;  they  are  less  like 
the  lightning  or  the  meteor  than  the  sunset  or  the 
dawn.  They  are  not  the  raptures  of  the  lover, 
which  are  often  founded  in  mere  sense,  and  vanish 
when  youth  and  beauty  are  gone  ;  but  the  steady 
glow  of  a  true  love  that  outlasts  every  external 
charm,  and  holds  on  its  constant  light  even  amidst 
wrinkles  and  old  age. 

Trite  as  the  subject  is,  I  must  be  allowed  to 
spend  a  little  time  upon  it,  as  it  is  nearly  connected 


28  THE    WORKING-MABr. 

with  the  happiness  of  the  working-man's  home. 
What  is  life,  especially  to  the  artisan,  without 
home  ?  and  what  is  home,  without  gentle  woman, 
the  friend,  the  wife,  the  mother?  The  English 
nobleman,  and  those  who  ape  his  manners,  may- 
trample  on  these  domestic  pleasures  ;  but  it  is  like 
treading  down  the  lily  of  the  valley,  the  cowslip, 
and  the  violet.  Husband  and  wife,  in  high  life, 
may  affect  great  coldness,  live  apart,  maintain 
separate  equipages,  and  flaunt  at  different  water- 
ing-places ;  they  have  debauched  all  taste  for  the 
joys  of  nature  and  of  virtue :  but  husband  and 
wife,  in  our  happier  sphere,  are  necessary  to  one 
another,  and  cannot  be  severed  without  loss  and 
anguish. 

In  our  favoured  land  there  can  scarcely  be  said 
to  be  any  check  to  marriage.  Our  young  people 
marry  early,  and  are  free  from  that  sullen,  brood- 
ing prudence  which  is  inculcated  by  painful 
necessity  on  the  peasantry  of  the  old  country. 
Matrimony  is  therefore  more  an  affair  of  the 
heart;  and  this,  in  spite  of  all  sneers  at  love- 
marriages,  I  shall  ever  hold  to  be  a  great  advan- 
tage. What  was  said  on  this  subject  by  Franklin, 
seventy  years  ago,  is  still  true,  that  early  mar- 
riages stand  the  best  chance  of  happiness.  The 
temper  and  habits  are  plastic  and  easily  run  toge- 
ther ;  the  want  of  personal  experience  is  supplied 
by  that  of  elder  friends  who  still  survive.  "  Late 
children,"  says  the  Spanish  proverb,  "  are  early 
orphans."     "  With  us  in  America,"  Dr,  Frauklia 


HUSBAND    AND    WIFE.  2? 

wrote  in  1768,  "  marriages  are  generally  in  the 
morning  of  life ;  our  children  are  therefore  edu- 
cated and  settled  in  the  world  by  noon  ;  and  thus, 
our  business  being  done,  we  have  an  afternoon 
and  evening  of  cheerful  leisure  to  ourselves.  By 
these  early  marriages  we  are  blessed  with  more 
children ;  *****  *  hence  the  swift  progress  of 
population  among  us,  unparalleled  in  Europe." 

Profane  jesters  and  rakes  have  succeeded  in 
getting  afloat  in  society  too  many  idle  and  wicked 
sayings  about  the  state  of  matrimony.  It  is  a  truth 
at  once  of  Scripture  and  observation,  that  "  he  that 
findeth  a  wife,  findeth  a  good  thing,  and  obtaineth 
favour  of  the  Lord."  I  am  so  far  from  having 
any  fears  of  infusing  into  n,y  readers  unduly 
romantic  notions  in  regard  to  marriage,  that  I  am 
convinced  the  households  of  our  working-men 
would  be  invested  with  a  new  charm  if  the  mutual 
regards  of  husband  and  wife  could  be  hallowed 
with  more  of  these  tender,  respectful,  and  sacred 
sentiments. 

Poor  Sedley !  what  I  have  just  written  brings 
him  to  my  mind.  Though  what  the  world  would 
call  but  a  common  man,  he  had  a  heart  worthy  of 
a  knight-errant.  He  is  now  gone ;  but  I  am  sure 
there  is  many  a  woman  living  who  remembers  the 
chaste  but  tender  respect,  almost  passionate,  if  it 
had  not  been  almost  courtly,  with  which  he  re- 
garded the  sex.  And  as  for  Isabel  his  wife,  though 
at  the  time  I  mean  she  was  neither  beautiful  nor 
young,  she  seemed  in  Sedley's  eyes  to  be  the 
3* 


80  THE    WORKING-MAN. 

representative  of  all  the  virtues.  I  never  heard 
from  them  a  fondling  expression,  or  observed  the 
slightest  indication  of  that  conjugal  mellowness 
which  is  a  sort  of  perpetuated  honey-moon.  But 
then  respect  and  love  breathed  from  every  action. 

Once  I  found  him,  when  much  enfeebled  by 
disease,  so  much  affected  as  to  be  in  tears.  "  I 
am  an  unlucky  fellow,"  said  he,  laying  his  hand 
on  mine ;  "  I  have  hurt  the  feelings  of  my  best 
friend — of  Isabel.  No,"  said  he,  "  I  recall  the 
phrase — it  is  often  but  another  name  for  anger — 
and  anger  never  rested  in  her  gentle  bosom. 
Grief — grief — that  is  the  word :  I  have  grieved 
her.  By  my  suUenness  and  petulance,  the  fruit 
of  my  diseases,  but  yet  unpardonable,  I  have 
grieved  her.  And  I  must  go,"  he  exclaimed, 
"  and  ask  her  forgiveness,  for  in  fifteen  years  she 
has  never  given  me  a  look  of  unkindness."  It 
was  with  difficulty  that  I  persuaded  him  to  lay 
aside  this  purpose.  He  could  scarcely  believe 
that  a  needless  explanation  is  always  a  source  of 
real  pain.  When  I  afterwards  found  that  Isabel 
gently  smiled  at  his  caprices,  which  she  under- 
stood better  than  himself,  I  was  only  the  more 
convinced  that  "  a  virtuous  woman  is  a  crown  to 
her  husband,  and  that  her  price  is  above  rubies." 

Let  the  debauchee  prate  of  the  constraint  of 
wedded  love,  and  the  zest  he  has  in  licentious 
pleasure  ;  let  the  monkish  casuist  declaim  against 
wedlock  as  a  lower  condition  in  point  of  morals  ; 
I  will  still  repeat  the  verses  of  the  matchless  bard 


HUSBAND   AND    WIFE.  it 

— verses  which  I  would  that  every  young  Ameri- 
can had  engraven  on  his  memory : 

"  Far  be  it  that  I  should  write  thee  sin  or  blame. 
Or  think  thee  unbefitting  holiest  place. 
Perpetual  fountain  of  domestic  sweets, 
Whose  bed  is  undefiled  and  chaste  pronounced. 
Present  or  past,  as  saints  and  patriarchs  used. 
Here  love  his  constant  shafts  employs,  here  lights 
His  constant  lamp,  and  waves  his  purple  wings, 
Reigns  here  and  revels ;  not  in  the  bought  smile 
Of  harlots,  loveless,  joyless,  unendear'd, 
Casual  fruition ;  nor  in  court  amours, 
Mbt'd  dance,  or  wanton  mask,  or  midnight  ball, 
Or  serenate,  which  the  starved  lover  sings 
To  his  proud  fair,  best  quitted  with  disdain." 


32  THE   WORKING-MAN 


V. 


THE    WIFE    AT    HOME. 


"  For  nothing  lovelier  can  be  found 
In  woman,  than  to  study  household  good, 
And  good  works  in  her  husband  to  promote." 

MiiToir. 

It  has  been  one  of  my  most  serious  apprehen- 
sions, that  in  the  multitude  of  our  societies  and 
public  combinations,  men  and  women  might  chance 
10  forget  that  they  have  any  thing  to  do  indivi- 
dually. We  have  societies  to  take  care  of  our 
health,  and  societies  to  take  care  of  our  kitchens. 
Almsgiving,  so  far  as  practised  at  all,  is  practised 
chiefly  by  wholesale.  Perhaps  we  may  see  the 
day  when  we  shall  dine  together  like  the  Spartans, 
and  when  all  cookery  and  education  shall  be  done 
upon  the  large  scale. 

These  thoughts  were  suggested  to  my  mind 
with  greater  force  than  common,  a.  few  days  since, 
upon  my  making  a  visit  to  the  house  of  Mrs. 
Nelson,  the  wife  of  a  reputable  farmer,  a  few 
miles  from  our  village.  If  I  were  to  attempt  a 
portrait  of  this  excellent  lady,  I  should  fill  a 
volume ;  I  can  only  give  an  outline.  Mrs.  Nel- 
son is,  in  the  American  as  well  as  the  English 


THE    WIFE    AT    HOME.  33 

sense,  a  fine  woman.  Temperance,  early  rising, 
industry,  and,  above  all,  serene  cheerfulness  of 
soul,  have  left  on  her  cheek  at  forty  those  roses 
which  fashion  and  excitement  often  blast  before 
fifteen.  But  what  I  took  my  pen  to  notice  was, 
that  truly  feminine  and  Christian  trait  of  my  good 
friend — she  is  a  "  keeper  at  home."*  Though  I 
have  been  a  church-going  man  many  years,  I  do 
not  remember  to  have  heard  any  one  of  our  clergy 
enlarge  upon  this  Scripture  phrase ;  and  yet  the 
older  I  grow,  the  more  wisdom  there  seems  to  be 
in  it.  The  best  women  in  the  world  are  those 
who  stay  at  home  ;  such  is  the  opinion  of  the  best 
judges,  to  wit,  their  husbands.  The  worst  women 
are  those  who  have  no  home,  or  who  love  all 
other  places  better ;  such  is  the  verdict  of  those 
who  meet  them  abroad.  A  wife  at  the  hearth  is 
as  indispensable  as  a  steersman  at  the  wheel. 
There  is  scarcely  any  degree  of  prudence  or  firm- 
ness which  will  enable  a  man  to  have  a  well- 
ordered  family  unless  his  partner  have  some  of 
the  same  qualities.  Even  the  success  of  out-door 
business  is  more  dependent  upon  this  than  is  com- 
monly supposed :  agreeably  to  a  vulgar  proverb, 
"  He  that  would  thrive,  must  ask  his  wife."  In 
a  house  where  children  or  apprentices  are  to  be 
cared  for,  this  is  plainly  true.  A  little  procrasti- 
nation, sloth,  or  want  of  thrift  in  the  woman  will 
suffice  to  make  every  thing  go  wrong.     Who  can 

•  TituB  ii.  5. 


54  THE    WORKING-MAN. 

count  up  the  cases  where  poor  fellows  have  been 
ruined  by  their  wives  ? 

This  is  a  hard  saying,  but  if  it  were  softened  it 
would  be  less  true.  Surely  it  is  no  disrespect  to 
the  better  sex  to  point  out  those  rare  exceptions, 
which,  like  the  dim  tarnish  on  the  face  of  the 
moon,  make  the  other  tracts  look  all  the  brighter. 
After  you  shall  have  exaggerated  to  the  utmost 
the  number  and  the  faults  of  idle,  gadding,  gossip- 
ing women,  we  shall  still  have  a  million  of  Ame- 
rican housewives,  brightening  a  million  homes 
and  hearts.  Mrs.  Nelson  is  one  of  them.  Her 
husband  is  not  the  meekest  man  in  the  county, 
nor  by  nature  the  most  hospitable,  but  she  makes 
up  for  all,  like  the  credit  side  of  an  account.  In 
the  exercise  of  the  passive  virtues,  she  finds  her 
greatest  happiness.  She  holds  it  to  be  one  of  the 
very  first  duties  of  life  to  render  her  home  delight- 
ful, first  to  her  husband,  next  to  her  children,  and 
then  to  all  who  may  enter  her  hospitable  doors. 
Early  in  life,  she  observed  that  several  of  her 
husband's  intimate  acquaintances  were  becoming 
irregular  in  their  habits ;  she  talked  it  over  with 
Nelson.  He,  being  a  rough  man,  declared  it  to 
be  his  intention  to  break  off  all  connexion  with 
Lang  and  Shepherd  on  the  spot.  "  0,  no,  hus- 
band !"  said  she  ;  "  that  would  be  cruel :  remem- 
ber the  proverb,  '  a  soft  word  breaketh  the  bone.' 
Let  me  alone  to  bring  them  to  their  bearings ;  at 
any  rate  give  me  a  month  for  an  experiment." 
<*  You !"  he  exclaimed,  in  astonishment ;  •'  Mary, 


THE    WIFE    AT    HOME.  35 

you  amaze  me  ;  surely  you  will  not  follow  them 
to  the  bar-room,  as  Jemima  Murphy  does  her 
goodman  ?"  "  Perhaps  not,"  said  his  wife, 
laughing ;  "  but  we  women  have  some  secrets 
left  still.     Wait  but  a  month." 

The  month  rolled  round.  It  was  with  difficulty 
that  Nelson  kept  himself  from  falling  upon  the 
two  men  violently,  but  he  waited  to  see  the  issue, 
and  even  kept  out  of  their  way,  that  the  incanta- 
tion might  not  be  interrupted.  At  the  close  of 
three  weeks,  Lang  and  Shepherd  were  two  of  the 
most  quiet,  orderly,  and  domestic  men  in  the 
neighbourhood.  "  Why,  Mary,"  said  Nelson, 
"  what  have  you  been  doing  to  them  ?"  "  I ! 
husband  !  I  have  not  exchanged  words  with  them 
for  weeks."  "  Then  you  have  had  some  witch- 
craft at  work."  "  None  in  the  world,"  she  re- 
plied ;  "  the  story  is  soon  related.  I  had  observed 
for  a  long  time  that  their  homes  were  growing 
dismal :  and  I  often  told  Mrs.  Lang  what  I  feared 
conceniing  her  husband.  Indeed,  I  had  heard 
you  tell  of  Lang's  repeating  over  his  glass  that 
abominable  saying,  '  the  devil's  at  home.'  After 
my  talk  with  you  I  set  to  work,  not  on  the  hus- 
bands, but  their  wives.  Simple  creatures !  they 
scarcely  knew  what  I  meant.  They  wished  in- 
deed that  the  men  would  spend  more  time  at 
home,  and  even  wept  about  their  late  hours  and 
beer-drinking.  But  they  were  not  prepared  for 
my  telling  them  that  they  must  redouble  the  attrac- 
tions of  their  own  fireside — make  the  cheer  better 


36  THE    WOHKING-MAN. 

— the  fire  brighter — the  children  cleaner — the 
house  tidier — the  welcome  heartier ;  call  in  a  plea- 
sant neighbour  to  tea,  or  a  friend's  daughter  to 
sing  an  innocent  song,  and  even  invite  to  a  com- 
fortable supper  two  or  three  of  their  husband's 
cronies.  Before  long  they  began  to  have  pleasant 
evenings ;  and  by  a  choice  of  company,  a  little 
good  fruit,  lemonade,  home-made  cake,  and  music, 
fairly  convinced  the  two  men  that  they  could  go 
pleasantly  to  bed  without  ale,  porter,  or  brandied 
wine.  The  thing  has  taken  admirably,  and  you 
see  the  result." 

Now  though  it  is  likely  Nelson  did  not  just 
then  suspect  it,  this  was  the  very  course  which 
had  proved  successful  in  saving  himself  from 
ruinous  habits.  And  most  earnestly  is  it  to  be 
wished  that  all  our  towns  and  villages  were  filled 
with  such  wives  as  honour  and  love  the  family 
institution  !  Every  one  has  made  the  observation 
that  there  are  many  more  women  who  are  religious, 
than  men ;  but  the  final  cause  of  this  has  not  so  often 
been  remarked.  Divine  Providence,  by  tliis  dis- 
criminating favour  to  the  one  sex,  pours  influence 
into  the  social  fountain.  As  are  the  mothers  of  a 
nation,  so  will  be  the  sons,  and,  in  a  measure,  the 
husbands.  But  to  exercise  full  influence,  the  wife 
must  be  a  keeper  at  home.  She  will  find  enough 
to  employ  her  longest  days,  in  the  endless  circle 
of  household  cares.  While  she  will  welcome  the 
evening  visiter,  and  often  enlarge  her  frugal  board 
for  the  bevy  of  friends,  or  even  join  in  the  social 


THE    WIFE    AT    HOME.  37 

party  or  the  cheerful  sleigh-ride,  these  things  will 
be  the  exceptions,  not  the  rule.  So  living,  she 
will  give  happiness  to  the  increasing  circle.  "  Her 
children  arise  and  call  her  blessed ;  her  husband 
also  and  he  praiseth  her." 


38  THE    WORKING-MAN. 

;  \ 

VI. 

THE   working-man's   DAUGHTER. 

"  How  bless'd  the  maid  whose  heart,  yet  free 
From  love's  uneasy  sovereignty, 
Beats  with  a  fancy  running  high. 
Her  simple  cares  to  magnify : 
Whom  labour,  never  urged  to  toil. 
Hath  cherisb'd  on  a  healthful  soil." 

WOHDSWOHTH. 

When  I  look  around  me  among  my  fair  coun- 
trywomen, and  see  them  equal  in  grace  and  love- 
liness to  any  upon  earth ;  and  when  I  observe 
how  many  of  the  most  beautiful  are  come  out 
from  the  dwellings  of  industry,  I  am  filled  with  a 
glow  of  satisfaction  which  I  would  not  repress 
and  cannot  put  into  words.  But  personal  charms 
are  the  least  of  the  graces  of  American  women. 
It  is,  I  hope,  no  part  of  our  national  conceit  to 
think  that  the  world  cannot  show  more  virtuous 
women.  Perhaps  the  poison  of  the  town  is,  in 
some  degree,  creeping  into  the  country ;  but  still, 
in  rural  neighbourhoods,  the  virgin  purity  of  the 
sex  bears  comparison  with  the  choice  of  the 
whole  earth. 

There  are  few  things  of  which  men  are  more 
proud  than  of  their  daughters.     The  young  father 


THE    working-man's   DAUGHTER.         39 

follows  the  sportive  girl  with  his  eye,  as  he  che- 
rishes an  emotion  of  complacency  not  so  tender 
but  quite  as  active  as  the  mother's.  The  aged 
father  leans  on  his  daughter  as  the  crutch  of  his 
declining  years.  An  old  proverb  says  that  the 
son  is  son  till  he  is  married,  but  the  daughter  is 
daughter  forever.  This  is  something  like  the 
truth.  Though  the  daughter  leaves  the  parental 
hearth,  she  is  still  followed  by  kindly  regards. 
The  gray-haired  father  drops  in  every  day  to 
greet  the  beloved  face ;  and  when  he  pats  the 
cheeks  of  the  little  grandchildren,  it  is  chiefly 
because  the  bond  which  unites  him  to  them  passes 
through  the  heart  of  his  darling  Mary ;  she  is  his 
daughter  still. 

You  have,  my  reader,  a  daughter — ^your  hope, 
your  pride.  It  is  a  blessing  for  which  you  may 
well  thank  Heaven :  it  is  a  trust  at  which  you 
may  well  tremble.  Beware  how  you  neglect  or 
mismanage  so  delicate  a  plant.  Slight  storms  will 
blast  a  texture  so  susceptible.  While  your  eye 
is  upon  your  cherished  girl,  and  the  gush  of  affec- 
tion is  strongest  and  warmest,  open  your  mind  to 
the  importance  of  being  a  wise  father.  What  has 
this  frail  but  inestimable  creature  to  ask  at  your 
hands  ? 

She  should  be  guarded.  It  is  superfluous  to 
Bay  that  our  daughters  walk  among  dangers.  Even 
at  school,  nay,  in  the  bosom  of  our  family,  they 
require  cautious  attention.  "A  child  left  to  him- 
self," says   Solomon,  "bringeth  his  mother  to 


40  THE    WORKING-MAN. 

shame  :"  it  is  doubly  true  of  the  daughter.  This 
is  not  one  of  the  things  which  may  be  abandoned 
to  self-management.  Principles  must  be  implant- 
ed, and  heavenly  precepts  inculcated.  The  rich 
soil,  when  left  untilled,  brings  forth  a  horrid  crop  , 
of  rank  weeds.  I  would  gladly  avoid  saying  it,  * 
but  even  female  companions  may  be  snares,  and 
it  is  not  impossible  for  gay  and  fascinating  girls 
to  be  bad  associates.  It  has  happened  again  and 
again  that  maidens  have  fallen  when  they  merely 
"  went  out  to  see  the  daughters  of  the  land." 
Far  be  it  from  me  to  commend  the  old  Spanish 
plan  of  seclusion :  I  have  no  such  wish.  Let  the 
gay  creatures  move  freely  in  the  circle  of  friends, 
but  still  let  the  parental  eye  and  the  parental  hand 
be  ever  ready  to  descry  and  avert  the  danger. 
The  great  point  is  gained  when  the  father  is  con- 
vinced that  the  daughter  needs  his  care.  He  is 
less  anxious,  and  she  is  safe. 

She  should  be  educated.  The  age  is  favour- 
able to  this.  In  heathen  countries  women  have 
always  been  uneducated  drudges.  Among  the 
most  refined  of  the  ancients,  an  educated  woman 
was  a  sort  of  black  swan,  an  object  of  curiosity 
and  amazement.  Among  our  own  Christian  an- 
cestors, female  education  was  made  to  consist 
almost  entirely  in  housewifery,  and  a  few  offices 
of  religion.  But  in  this  country,  at  present,  the 
stream  of  opinion  is  wholly  in  favour  of  giving  , 
learning  and  accomplishment  to  the  sex.  As  a 
general  observation,  it  is  true  that  daughters  all 


THE    working-man's   DAUOHTBR.        41 

over  the  country  have  a  better  training  than  that 
of  their  mothers.  Perhaps  there  is  some  danger 
of  going  to  the  extreme  of  refinement,  and  under- 
taking to  give  grace,  and  polish,  and  embellish- 
ment beyond  what  the  solid  acquisition  will  bear. 

Give  your  daughter  the  best  education  you  can 
afford :  you  can  give  her  nothing  better.  And 
when  I  say  the  best  education,  I  mean  of  course 
that  which  is  most  suited  to  her  expectations  in 
life,  including  in  the  term,  not  merely  book-learn- 
ing, but  the  household  arts  and  the  culture  of  the 
heart.  There  is  tendency  enough  towards  mere 
accomplishments,  such  as  music,  drawing,  fancy- 
work,  and  the  like ;  so  that  I  plead  more  earnestly 
for  the  solids.  And  with  respect  to  the  latter,  it  is 
certainly  safer  to  err  on  the  side  of  too  much,  than 
on  that  of  too  little.  Any  litUe  excess  of  attain- 
ment will  be  easily  forgotten  and  thrown  off  amidst 
the  cares  of  a  family.  The  wife  and  mother  has 
far  less  time  than  the  husband  to  make  attainments 
in  after  life  ;  she  must  therefore  get  as  much  as  is 
p(*ssible  before  marriage.  In  most  of  the  schools 
with  which  I  am  acquainted,  girls  have  too  many 
branches  offered  to  their  attention.  A  girl's  edu- 
cation is  usually  considered  as  complete  after  a 
course  of  three  or  four  years ;  yet  in  this  brief 
period  she  is  expected  in  some  seminaries  to 
acquire  the  same  amount  of  learning  which  it 
tiikes  boys  three  times  as  long  to  acquire ;  and 
this  over  and  above  a  list  of  minor  ornamental 

branches  of  which  the  value  is  commonly  in  the 
4* 


42  THE    WOBKING-MAN. 

inverse  proportion  of  the  cost.  This  has  weighed 
heavily  upon  my  mind  for  some  years  past ;  when 
I  have  seen  the  daughters  of  men  who  are  frugal 
and  practical  in  other  matters,  really  cheated  out 
of  a  good  education  by  the  quackery  of  a  false 
system.  The  point  of  this  rebuke  is  directed  not 
so  much  against  particular  teachers,  who  will  and 
must  furnish  what  the  public  taste  demands,  as 
against  those  parents  who  are  so  foolish  as  to 
bring  up  their  children  on  a  diet  of  froth,  flowers, 
and  syllabub.  No  discreet  parent  surely  will  allow 
himself  to  look  upon  his  daughter's  education  as 
a  mere  bait  for  suitors :  he  who  does  so  is  deck- 
ing a  victim  for  sacrifice.  On  the  contrary,  unless 
you  can  secure  to  your  child  a  longer  course  of 
instruction  than  the  average  term,  you  will  do  well 
to  limit  her  to  a  moderate  number  of  branches, 
and  these  the  most  valuable,  and  to  see  that  ia 
these  she  is  as  thoroughly  instructed  as  a  boy 
would  be  in  the  same.  Moreover,  you  will  not 
allow  yourself  to  be  satisfied  with  the  advertise- 
ments, circulars,  or  other  professions  of  great 
schools,  however  fashionable,  as  to  the  choice  of 
studies  for  your  daughter,  but  will,  after  the  best 
advice,  select  such  a  course  as  will  promise  disci- 
pline to  her  mind,  and  usefulness  throughout  life. 

There  is  one  more  suggestion  concerning  this 
important  subject,  and  then  I  leave  your  daughter 
to  your  own  care :  She  should  be  well  married. 
True  enough  !  you  will  exclaim ;  but  how  is  this 


THE    WOHKING-MAN's    DAUGHTER.        43 

to  be  accomplished  ?  I  will  tell  you :  not  l>y 
manoeuvring,  or  match-making,  or  any  mercenary 
or  trade  compact,  such  as,  according  to  a  hack- 
neyed pun,  may  make  "  matrimony  a  matter  of 
money;"  not  by  any  measure  to  procure  this  or 
that  man  as  a  son-in-law.  Your  cares  are  to  have 
another  direction.  Make  your  daughter  all  that 
it  is  in  your  power  to  make  her,  by  education  in 
its  widest  sense,  and  be  assured  she  will  never 
lack  suitors.  The  great  difficulty  will  be  to  pre- 
vent her  being  snatched  away  from  you  by  some 
unworthy  man.  How  shall  this  be  prevented  ? 
Not,  as  I  think,  by  laying  a  repressing  hand  of 
cold  iron  upon  affections  already  formed.  No ! 
no !  It  is  almost  always  too  late  when  matters 
have  reached  this  point.  But  a  wise  line  of  con- 
duct will  be  preventive  of  a  wrong  alliance  in  two 
particulars.  For,  first,  if  you  bring  the  girl  up  in 
right  principles,  with  knowledge,  modesty,  and 
affectionate  duty,  she  will  be  in  little  danger  of 
suffering  any  passion  to  gain  strength  against  the 
wishes  of  a  parent.  And,  again,  if  a  suitable 
guard  be  placed  over  her  associations,  she  will  be 
seldom  in  those  companies  where  such  alliances 
are  most  apt  to  be  formed,  and  will  thus  be  kept 
out  of  harm's  way. 

O  mothers,  mothers  !  how  greatly  are  ye  con- 
cerned in  this  matter!  While  you  encourage 
these  young  creatures  in  superficial  accomplish- 
ments, -md  bold  display,  you  are  often  preparing 


44  THE    WORKING-MAN. 

for  them  a  lifetime  of  chagrin  and  misery.  On 
the  other  hand,  where  you  train  them  at  your 
side,  by  precept  and  example,  in  retiring,  indus- 
trious, studious,  virtuous  habits,  you  are  preparing 
them  to  be  "  corner-stones,  polished  after  the 
similitude  of  a  palace." 


THE    SCHOOLMASTER.  45 

VII. 

THE    SCHOOLMASTER. 

"  Much  zeal  in  virtue's  cause  all  teachers  boast, 
Though  motives  of  mere  lucre  sway  the  most" 

COWPEB. 

It  is  pleasing  to  observe,  as  education  spreads 
its  influence  more  and  more  widely,  that  the  in- 
structers  of  our  children  are  rising  in  public  esti- 
mation. It  has  not  been  many  years  since  the 
very  name  of  schoolmaster  was  a  temptation  to  a 
sneer.  Perhaps  the  fault  was  sometimes  in  th^ 
pedagogues  themselves :  they  were  not  always 
learned,  they  were  not  always  discreet.  It  was 
not  indeed  more  common  then,  than  now,  for 
young  men  raw  from  college  to  teach  for  a  year 
or  two,  until  they  might  become  clergymen,  law- 
yers, or  doctors ;  but  while  they  did  so  they  were 
not  held  in  great  veneration ;  and  the  older  sort, 
who  made  it  a  business  for  life,  were  often  bache- 
lors, humorists,  and  pedants.  In  the  very  State 
in  which  I  am  writing,  there  is  a  township,  in 
which  a  majority  of  the  schoolmasters  were  drunk- 
ards ;  and  that  since  the  Revolution.  Poor  fellows ! 
I  might  wonder  how  they  continued  to  buy  their 
drink,  out  of  the  pittance  which  they  received  for 


46  THE    WORKING-MAN. 

teaching,  if  I  did  not  reflect  that  a  man  may  kill 
himself  with  whisky  for  two  shillings.  They 
used  to  go  about  from  house  to  house,  like  country 
tailors ;  and  were  less  regarded.  In  the  hard 
winters,  many  of  them  travelled  on  foot  more 
miles  in  a  month  than  they  received  dollars  in  a 
year.  The  school-houses  were  wretched  dens, 
with  no  earthly  recommendation  but  their  airiness 
in  the  summer ;  and  in  these  boys  and  girls,  as 
full  of  mischief  and  prank  as  buxom  health  could 
make  them,  would  vex  the  red-wigged  master  till 
his  carbuncled  nose  emulated  the  red  cloaks  behind 
the  door.  Then  came  the  smothered  laugh,  the 
furious  reconnoitre  of  the  oflTending  bench,  the 
cuff,  the  slap,  the  rejoinder,  the  surrejoinder ; 
the  quip  modest,  the  reply  churlish,  the  reproof 
yaliant,  the  countercheck  quarrelsome ;  till  down 
fell  the  birchen  shower.  A  stranger  might  have 
taken  the  engagement  for  a  fight,  as  the  whole 
commonly  issued  in  a  mutual  castigation,  in  which 
the  master  was  reduced  to  a  good  humour,  and 
making  a  virtue  of  necessity,  passed  it  all  off  as 
a  joke. 

In  those  days,  however,  of  Cocker  and  Dil- 
worth,  there  were  some  ripe  scholars,  even  in  the 
glens  of  the  mountains ;  and  if  learning  was  hardly 
come  by,  it  was  prized  llie  more.  Old  men  aro 
living,  who  remember  to  have  heard  Latin  talked 
in  the  upper  forms  of  log  school-houses ;  nay,  who 
have  seen  and  heard  the  master,  in  a  fine  frenzy, 
spout  Cicero,  and  even  Demosthenes,  in  the  ori 


THE    SCHOOLMASTER.  47 

ginal.  There  were  some  who  had  emigrated  from 
"  the  old  country,"  and  some  were  bred  among 
ourselves,  who  taught  for  the  love  of  it,  and  who 
would  scarcely  have  been  willing  to  exchange  the 
ferula  for  the  truncheon  of  a  commander. 

Many  young  people  are  now-a-days  receiving 
a  finished  education,  whose  fathers  scarcely  knew 
a  letter  in  a  book.  A  few  months  ago,  in  a  some- 
what secluded  place,  almost  five  hundred  miles 
from  here,  I  found  the  state  of  afiairs  so  changed 
from  what  it  once  was,  that  the  daughters  of  me- 
chanics were  learning  French,  Latin,  and  the 
guitar.  Whether  this  is  wise  or  not  may  be  re- 
served for  future  discussion ;  but  one  thing  is 
certain,  working-men  are  setting  a  higher  value 
than  formerly  on  education.  If  we  may  judge 
of  the  demand  for  an  article  by  the  price,  teaching 
is  a  better  business  than  it  was.  People  are  be- 
ginning to  find  out,  that  the  man  who  gives  good 
learning  to  their  sons  and  daughters  is  doing  them 
a  favour.  The  schoolmaster  is  lifting  his  head, 
and  is  no  longer  ashamed  of  the  title.  It  is  right 
that  this  feeling  should  prevail,  especially  in  the 
case  of  those  who  make  teaching  a  business  for 
life.  Such  men,  if  faithful  and  competent,  are 
second  to  none  in  the  good  they  do.  The  per- 
manent teacher,  especially  when  venerable  for 
his  years,  ought  to  be  honoured  in  every  circle. 
While  he  looks  benignantly  round  him  on  those 
whose  fathers  he  has  in  former  days  led.  along 
the  ways  of  knowledge,  he  should  be  made  to 


48  THE    WORKING-MAN. 

feel  that  his  services  are  not  undervalued.  When 
this  shall  be  more  generally  the  case,  there  will 
be  fewer  instances  of  retreat  from  the  vocation. 
The  instructer  of  youth  will  be  regarded  as  con- 
stituting one  of  the  learned  professions ;  and  young 
men  will  look  forward  to  this  calling,  just  as  they 
do  to  the  pulpit  or  the  bar.  "If  it  were  asked," 
says  a  late  English  writer,  "  what  class  of  men 
would  receive,  in  the  present  or  next  generation, 
the  rewards  to  which  their  labours,  when  rightly 
understood  and  assiduously  performed,  justly 
entitle  them,  it  might  be  answered,  with  every 
appearance  of  probability — those  who  improve 
the  moral  and  intellectual  characters  of  individuals, 
and  fit  them  to  perform  the  various  duties  of  life 
with  satisfaction  to  themselves  and  advantage  to 
others." 

A  difficulty  suggests  itself  in  the  ease  of  many 
mechanics  and  other  men  of  the  industrious  classes, 
which  merits  special  attention.  We  have  among 
us  highly  respectable  persons  of  this  description, 
who  have  never  received  a  thorough  education. 
Still  they  are  improved  by  their  own  exertions, 
and  by  intercourse  with  society,  and  are  conse- 
quently far  above  the  contemptible  prejudice  with 
which  ignorant  parents  regard  all  science  and  lite- 
rature. So  far  are  they  from  this,  that  they  lament 
their  own  deficiencies,  and  hold  nothing  more 
resolutely  before  their  minds  than  the  purpose  to 
have  their  children  instructed.  But  in  seeing  this 
accomplished,  there  is  this  hinderance :  they  can- 


THE    SCHOOLMASTER.  49 

not  themselves  pretend  to  decide  who  is  and  who 
is  not  a  fit  teacher ;  and  in  this  age,  when  recom- 
mendations for  pills,  or  dictionaries,  or  professors, 
are  as  easily  obtained  as  bank-accommodation,  no 
parent  can  rely  on  mere  general  testimonials. 
Habits  of  calculation  naturally  lead  a  man  in  such 
a  case  to  make  ihe  price  a  criterion  :  and  here  is 
a  common  snare.  Wo  to  the  boy  or  girl  whose 
parent  has  been  beguiled  by  a  schoolmaster  with 
no  great  merit  but  his  cheapness.  Cheapen  your 
watch  or  your  chaise,  but  not  your  child's  instruc- 
tion. I  knew  a  teacher  once — I  know  him  still— 
whose  like  I  would  gladly  see  in  every  town  and 
hamlet  of  my  country.  Though  aiming  to  be  no 
more  than  a  common  schoolmaster,  he  might  have 
graced  the  chair  of  a  university.  His  manners 
are  formal,  and  his  language  precise,  and  his  deci- 
sions positive  :  these  things  are  wont  so  to  be,  in 
one  that  has  ruled  for  fifty  years.  Yet  he  is  bland, 
and  ready  to  communicate.  He  will  put  on  his 
huge  round  spectacles  even  now,  to  rule  a  girl's 
copy-book.  His  gray  hairs  sometimes  blow  about 
in  the  wind,  while  he  is  fixing  a  dial  in  a  pupil's 
garden.  He  has  been  a  great  aid  to  surveyors  and 
almanac-makers,  and  is  suspected  of  helping  the 
clergyman  to  scraps  of  Greek  and  Hebrew.  For 
though  he  teaches  English,  he  is  not  strange  in 
the  ancient  lore ;  and  I  am  not  sure  that  among 
all  my  good  old  mates,  there  is  a  single  one  who 
could  better  give  the  meaning  of  a  hard  quotation, 
than  Robert  Appletree. 

5 


50  THE    WORKING-MAN. 


VIII. 

THE    SCHOOLMASTER. 

Continued. 

"  The  village  all  declared  bow  much  he  knew ; 
Twas  certain  he  could  write  and  cipher  too ; 
Lands  he  could  measure,  terms  and  tides  presage, 
And  even  the  story  ran  that  he  could  gauge : 
In  arguing,  too,  the  parson  own'd  his  skill, 
For  even  though  vanquish'd  he  could  argue  still." 

Goldsmith. 

We  are  apt  to  flatter  one  another  that  the  world 
is  growing  wiser  and  better  every  day;  and  if 
great  public  improvements  are  to  be  taken  as  a 
fair  sign,  we  are  doubtless  a  greater  people  than 
our  forefathers.  They,  poor  souls,  had  neither 
steamships  nor  railways  ;  the  division  of  labour, 
which  with  us  leads  to  such  perfection  in  all  the 
arts,  had  with  them  gone  but  a  few  steps.  Books 
were  rare  among  them  ;  exceedingly  rare  among 
the  earlier  American  settlers  ;  so  that  the  libraries 
of  many  able  and  learned  men,  before  the  Revo- 
lution, were  smaller  than  collections  which  may 
now  be  found  among  mechanics.  Schools  are 
more  numerous,  and  nearer  together,  and  scarcely 
a  day  passes  but  we  hear  of  discoveries  in  educa- 
tion, which  are  almost  as  numerous  as  patent 


THE    SCHOOLMASTER.  51 

medicines.  Surely  the  age  must  be  getting  wiser. 
Laying  together  a  number  of  signs,  such  as  the 
magnetic  pills,  animal  magnetism,  phrenology, 
the  prolongation  of  life  by  vegetable  diet,  the 
astonishing  modes  of  teaching  penmanship  in  six 
lessons,  and  French  in  twenty,  and  the  ponderous 
volumes  of  speeches  delivered  at  school  conven- 
tions and  the  like,  is  it  not  fair  to  expect  the  day 
when  the  royal  road  to  science,  like  the  north-west 
passage,  shall  have  been  discovered,  and  when  a 
complete  organization  of  that  thinking  pulp  which 
we  call  the  brain,  shall  be  produced  by  steam  ? 

Such  meditations  as  these  are  not  uncommon, 
hut  they  are  often  driven  clean  out  of  my  mind 
when  I  hear  uncle  Benjamin  discourse  about  the 
times  when  he  was  a  boy.  Perhaps  it  was  be- 
cause he  had  just  been  insulted  in  the  street,  by  a 
couple  of  scape-graces,  who,  with  the  insubordinate 
spirit  which  marks  our  day,  had  scoffed  at  his 
lameness,  that  the  old  man  appeared  somewhat 
ruffled  during  our  last  interview.  He  had  seated 
himself  by  an  old-fashioned  Franklin  stove,  for 
he  cannot  endure  coal,  and  with  his  feet  upon  the 
fender,  was  enjoying  the  soothing  odours  of  his 
pipe.  The  very  sight  of  him  brought  before  my 
mind's  eye  the  period  before  the  Revolution. 
Here  was  the  remnant  of  a  robust  frame  and  a 
vigorous  understanding.  Here  was  one  remaining 
link  to  bind  us  to  the  old  colonial  times.  Like 
many  of  the  aged,  he  loves  to  discourse;  and  who 
has  a  better  right  ? 


52  THE    WORKING-MAN. 

"Ah,"  said  he,  archly  shaking  a  shrivelled 
'finger  at  his  grandsons,  "  if  you  had  been  schooled 
inmy  day,  you  would  have  had  other  jobs  for  your 
winter  evenings  than  playing  that  idle  game  of 
backgammon  which  I  see  you  at."  "  How  so, 
grandfather?"  said  Joseph,  as  he  emptied  his  box 
and  cried  ^^  cinq-ace." — "I'll  tell  you,  boys. 
Learning  was  something  to  be  scrambled  for  in 
those  days.  The  schoolmaster  was  second  only 
to  the  minister,  and  used  to  wear  his  hair  in  a 
bag.  He  went  the  rounds  among  the  farmer's 
houses,  in  a  large  circuit,  and  some  of  the  boys 
used  to  trudge  their  four  and  five  miles  to  school. 
As  it  was  not  every  young  collegian  who  could 
set  up  a  school,  the  business  of  teaching  was 
worth  something.  We  did  not,  it  is  true,  pay  a 
great  deal  in  hard  money,  but  taking  into  the 
account  firewood,  clothing,  board,  and  produce, 
we  used  to  make  the  schoolmaster  quite  com- 
fortable." 

"  I  suppose,  grandfather,  they  used  to  whip,  in 
those  days  ?" — "  You  may  well  say  so,  Joseph  ; 
you  may  well  say  so.  The  teacher  was  not 
ashamed  to  be  named  Master,  and  we  were  not 
ashamed  to  call  him  so.  Master  he  was,  and  it 
took  a  sturdy  fellow  to  handle  a  set  of  resolute 
young  cubs,  who  sometimes  turned  upon  him  and 
shut  him  out  of  his  castle.  Hard  blows  used  to 
fall  thick ;  and  they  made  men  of  us.  If  you 
want  to  become  a  young  Lord  Betty,  or,  as  the 
Indians  say,  •  turn  squaw,'  enter  yourself  at  one 


THE    SCHOOLMASTER.  53 

of  these  schools  where  the  discipline  is  so  parental, 
that  the  lads  are  made  to  believe  a  buffet  or  a  box 
on  the  ear  would  ruin  them.  No,  no  !  We  had 
our  full  share  of  correction  ;  and  though  we  used 
to  vow  that  we  would  take  ample  reprisals  when 
we  should  get  big  enough,  yet  we  never  fulfilled 
the  obligation.  But  every  thing  is  on  a  new  plan. 
I  do  not  see  anybody  that  can  write  a  fair,  round, 
copy-hand,  such  as  we  used  to  practise,  having 
our  knuckles  well  rapped  if  there  was  a  single 
pot-hook  awry.  The  teachers  can't  do  it  them- 
selves, and  they  therefore  cry  '  sour-grapes,'  and 
set  copies  in  three-cornered  letters  like  a  girl's 
verses  in  a  Valentine.  The  good  old  ciphering- 
books  have  gone  out:  they  used  to  teach  us 
figures,  penmanship,  and  book-keeping,  all  at  once. 
Then  you  seem  to  me  to  have  some  new-fangled 
school-book  every  month,  and  a  new  teacher  almost 
every  quarter.  The  cr)'  is  for  cheap  education — 
low-priced  teachers ;  and  your  children  fare  ac- 
cordingly. You  have  more  wit  than  to  do  so  with 
other  things.  You  do  not  look  out  so  carefully 
for  the  lowest-priced  horse  or  bullock." 

Thus  the  old  man  ran  on.  With  due  allow- 
ance for  the  predilections  of  age,  there  was  enough 
of  truth  and  reason  in  his  complaints  to  make  me 
pause  and  consider.  The  stream  of  knowledge  is 
daily  more  diffused :  I  wish  I  were  as  sure  that 
it  is  deeper.  Often,  in  talking  with  old  men,  1 
am  impressed  with  this  truth,  that  while  they 
know  less  about  many  things  than  we  of  the  pre- 


4*  THE    WORKING-MAN. 

sent  race,  they  know  better  what  they  had  learned. 
If  there  was  less  compass  in  their  knowledge, 
there  was  more  weight.  Confinement  to  a  few 
books  made  them  perfect  in  those  few.  You  could 
not  puzzle  uncle  Benjamin  iu  the  Spectator,  or 
the  Freeholder,  or  the  poems  of  Pope ;  but  he 
never  heard  of  Shelley,  or  Bulwer,  or  Willis,  and 
my  friend  Appletree  tells  me  it  is  much  the  same 
in  the  learned  languages.  He  contends,  through 
thick  and  thin,  that  we  have  no  scholars  to  match 
the  old-school  fellows  of  silver-buckles  and  hair- 
powder,  and  that  since  small-clothes  went  out, 
there  has  not  been  a  teacher  who  could  parse  his 
boys  in  Latin.  He  even  doubts  whether  our  pro- 
fessors of  language  could  all  of  them  make  a  good 
ofF-hand  Latin  speech ;  and  as  to  Latin  verses, 
which  used  to  be  so  common,  they  are  as  obsolete 
as  horn-books  and  thumb-papers.  He  further 
avers,  though  I  would  not  be  held  responsible  for 
the  assertion,  that  the  men  of  '76  wrote  purer, 
stronger,  racier  English  than  the  men  of  this  day ; 
and  that  John  Hancock,  John  Adams,  Josiah 
Quincy,  and  George  Washington,  handled  an 
easier,  simpler,  and  manlier  style,  than  Mr.  Wise, 
Mr.  John  Quincy  Adams,  or  Mr.  Van  Buren. 
But  this,  I  dare  say,  was  told  me  in  confidence. 


£ARLY    READING.  89 


IX. 

THE  LASTING  IMPRESSION  OF  EARLY  READING. 

"  But  she,  who  set  on  fire  his  infant  heart, 

And  all  his  dreams  and  all  his  wanderings  shared, 
And  bless'd,  the  Muse"  and  her  celestial  art, 

Still  claim  th'  enthusiast's  fond  and  first  regard." 

BsATTIE. 

In  the  family  of  a  working-man,  where  books 
cannot  in  all  cases  be  very  numerous,  it  is  par- 
ticularly desirable  that  those  which  fall  in  the  way 
of  the  young  people  should  be  of  the  right  sort ; 
and  this  is  to  be  managed  not  so  much  by  rules 
and  restrictions,  as  by  a  care  in  the  filling  of  the 
shelves.  If  the  latter  have  seductive  books,  they 
will  be  sought  after  by  the  children,  even  though 
you  should  open  before  their  eyes  the  most  sacred 
liomilies,  or  preach  yourself  hoarse  in  decrying 
naughty  novels  and  song-books.  This  becomes 
more  important,  when  we  call  to  mind  that  the 
whole  course  of  a  man's  reading  is  often  deter- 
mined by  the  books  which  he  happens  to  enjoy 
in  his  boyhood.  Robinson  Crusoe  has  made  many 
a  sailor;  Spenser's  Faery  Queen  made  Pope  a 
versifier ;  Xenophon's  Memorabilia  made  Frank- 
lin a  disputant ;  and  if  I  might  be  allowed  to  play 


56  THE    WORKING-MAN. 

the  egotist  in  a  harmless  way,  I  would  add  that 
the  liking  of  which  I  am  conscious  for  the  old- 
fashioned  English  literature  is  owing  to  the  con- 
tents of  a  single  shelf  in  the  house  in  which  I 
spent  my  boyhood.      That  shelf  contained  the 
essays  commonly  known  as  the  British  Classics. 
I  perfectly  remember  the  eagerness  with  which  I 
used  to  clamber  up  the  edge  of  the  book-cases,  to 
reach  these  tempting  works.     At  first  my  object 
was  to  look  at  the  pictures,  of  which  there  were 
two  or  three  in  each  of  the  thirty-nine  volumes. 
But  soon  I  was  allured  to  do  more ;  and  while 
yet  quite  a  little  boy,  was  as  familiar  with  the 
more  light  and  humorous  parts  of  Addison,  Steele, 
Goldsmith,  and  Mackenzie,  as  I  have  since  been 
with  any  other  productions.     And  though  books 
for  children  were  fewer  then  than  they  are  now, 
1  am  satisfied  that  the  daily  converse  of  a  child 
with  such  works  as  the  Spectator,  the  Guardian, 
and   the    Connoisseur,    even    if   he    finds    many 
things    above    his   apprehension,  is   more   profit- 
able and  far   more  delightful  than  tlie  perpetual 
dawdling  over  penny-volumes,  written  on  the  plan 
of  making  every  thing  level  to  the  meanest  capa- 
city.    These   first  tastes  of  good  letters  diffuse 
their  savour  through  a  lifetime.     Hence  it  must 
be  clear  to  every  parent,  that  he  cannot  be  too 
careful  in  the  choice  of  books ;  meaning  not  merely 
such  as  are  given  to  his  children  as  their  own, 
but  such  also  as  form  a  part  of  the  family  stock. 
When  I  try  to  gather  up  the  broken  recoUec- 


EARLY    READING.  57 

tions  of  early  days,  and  ask  what  pieces  of  reading 
have  left  the  most  abiding  impressions  upon  my 
mind,  I  discern  at  once  that  it  has  been  that  class 
which  met  my  attention  casually :  not  my  school- 
books,  not  the  works  spread  before  me  by  my 
sage  advisers,  but  effusions,  gay  or  grave,  which  I 
hastily  devoured  by  forbidden  snatches.  At  an 
early  age  I  fell  upon  the  Life  of  Benjamin  Frank- 
lin, as  written  by  himself:  a  book  which  I  shall 
always  cite  as  an  illustration  of  one  of  my  favour- 
ite maxims,  that  truth  is  more  interesting  than 
fiction.  The  essays  appended  to  the  volume  en- 
gaged my  attention ;  and  I  was  not  content  to  read 
merely  what  I  could  understand,  but  dived  boldly 
into  some  of  the  profundities  of  his  politics  and 
his  philosophy.  The  Way  to  Wealth,  Poor 
Richard,  and  The  Whistle,  are  perhaps  as  familiar 
to  the  minds  of  the  American  people,  as  any  human 
productions :  I  may  therefore  cite  them  as  remark- 
able instances  of  lasting  impression.  I  wish  my 
admiration  of  Benjamin  Franklin  were  not  min- 
gled with  anxiety  as  to  the  probable  influence 
which  one  or  two  of  these  pieces,  and  the  general 
tone  of  his  economical  writings,  have  had  upon 
the  national  way  of  thinking.  The  maxims  of 
Poor  Richard  are  undeniable ;  and  if  the  great  end 
of  man  were  to  make  money,  they  might  be 
adopted  as  a  sort  of  pecuniary  gospel.  But  I  fear 
that  the  boy  who  is  bred  upon  such  diet  as — "  If 
you  would  be  wealthy,  think  of  saving  as  well  as 
getting ;"  or  "  Six  pounds  a  year  is  but  a  groat  a 


58  THE    WORKING-MAN. 

day;"  or  "  He  that  murders  a  crown  destroys  all 
it  might  have  produced  ;"  or  "  A  penny  saved  is 
twopence  clear" — or  any  the  like  adages,  will  be 
not  merely  rich,  but  miserly.  I  am  so  little  of  a 
utilitarian,  that  I  do  not  believe  wealth  to  be  the 
chief  good,  or  frugality  the  cardinal  virtue ;  and 
most  heartily  do  I  regret  that  such  an  authority 
as  Franklin  should  have  erected  for  us  such  a 
tutelary  saint  as  Poor  Richard. 

Be  this,  however,  as  it  may,  my  position  holds 
true ;  the  whole  colour  of  our  life,  both  mental 
and  moral,  is  frequenUy  taken  from  what  we  read 
during  childhood ;  and  I  am  here  reminded  that 
this  very  philosopher  is  an  instance  in  point.  A 
very  little  book,  exceedingly  prized  in  old-time 
families,  seems  to  have  had  great  effects  on  his 
mind.  In  a  letter  written  from  France,  in  1784, 
Franklin  thus  addresses  Dr.  Mather  of  Boston : 
"  When  I  was  a  boy,  I  met  with  a  book,  entitled, 
Essays  to  do  good,  which  I  think  was  written 
by  your  father.  It  had  been  so  litde  regarded  by 
a  former  possessor,  that  several  leaves  of  it  were 
torn  out ;  but  the  remainder  gave  me  such  a  turn 
of  thinking,  as  to  have  an  influence  on  my  con- 
duct through  life  ;  for  /  have  always  set  a  greater 
value  on  the  character  of  a  doer  of  good,  than 
on  any  other  kind  of  reputation  ;  and  if  I  have 
been,  as  you  seem  to  think,  a  useful  citizen,  the 
public  owes  the  advantage  of  it  to  that  book."* 
These  are  notable  words.  Let  them  have  their 
•  From  the  American  Museum,  vol.  vii.  p.  100 


EARLY   READING.  99 

due  weight  with  the  young.  They  were  uttered 
by  Dr.  Franklin  when  he  was  in  his  seventy- 
ninth  year :  they  were  therefore  not  the  fruit  of 
sudden  excitement.  Their  import  is,  that  if  he 
had  been  useful,  it  was  owing  to  a  torn  book  read 
in  his  boyhood.  I  hope  the  republication  of  this 
remark  will  not  only  have  the  elfect  of  leading 
every  one  who  reads  it  to  procure  this  work  of 
the  famous  Cotton  Mather,  but  will  induce  some 
publisher  to  give  it  to  us  in  a  shape  more  elegant 
and  better  suited  to  the  reigning  taste,  than  that 
in  which  it  has  hitherto  appeared.  "  Such  writ- 
ings," says  Franklin,  of  a  similar  production, 
"  though  they  may  be  lightly  passed  over  by 
many  readers,  yet  if  they  make  a  deep  impression 
on  one  active  mind  in  a  hundred,  the  effects  may 
be  considerable." 

When  the  artisan,  or  the  farmer,  or  the  trades 
man  is  making  up  a  collection  of  books,  he  ought 
to  bear  in  mind  that  a  well-kept  book  will  last  a 
lifetime.  Some  of  the  soundest  books  I  have 
were  owned  by  my  grandfather.  It  is  great  im- 
providence to  fill  our  houses  with  trash.  Ten 
dollars,  wisely  expended,  will,  at  an  auction  or 
book-shop,  furnish  you  with  fine  old  copies,  in 
sheep  or  even  calf,  of  Milton,  Young,  Thomson, 
Pope,  the  Spectator,  the  Rambler,  Boswell's  John- 
son, Plutarch's  Lives,  Josephus,  with  quite  a 
sprinkling  of  later  and  lighter  productions.  And 
this  will  be  a  source  of  endless  entertainment 
during  the  winter  evenings.* 

*  See  the  American  Mechanic,  p.  267. 


60  THE    WORKING-MAN. 


X. 

READING    FOR    BEGINNERS. 

"  Only,  good  master,  while  we  do  admire 
Thy  virtue,  and  thy  moral  discipline, 
Let's  be  no  Stoics,  nor  no  stocks,  I  pray." 

Taming  of  the  Shrew, 

Rules  are  good  things,  but  one  may  have  too 
much  of  them ;  and  overmuch  legislation  is  a 
snare  and  a  burden.  Some  of  my  friends,  know- 
ing me  to  be  a  bookish  man,  acquainted  with  a 
number  of  the  old  English  authors,  have  again 
and  again  begged  me  to  lay  down  for  them,  in 
black  and  white,  a  course  of  reading,  which  they 
might  use  themselves,  and  give  to  their  young 
folks.  This  I  have  always  resisted,  partly  because 
I  have  a  dread  of  running  all  minds  through  the 
same  flatting-mill,  and  partly,  perhaps,  because 
whatever  little  attainments  I  have  myself  made, 
have  come  to  me,  not  b)-  regulations,  hut  in  spite 
of  them.  I  am  half,  disposed  to  think  this  is 
nature's  own  way.  Men  and  families  that  have 
been  held  down  to  as  rigid  a  uniformity  as  a  Bri- 
tish garrison,  whose  regimental  order  is  absolute, 
even  to  gaiter,  moustache,  and  pipe-clay,  always 
have,  in  my  eye,  a  cramp  look.      They  have 


READING    FOR    BEGINNERS.  61 

grown  like  fruit  trees  nailed  to  a  garden  wall,  or 
box-wood  in  the  old-fashioned  tin  moulds.  Even 
in  the  fine  arts,  the  pupil  may  be  kept  too  long  in 
the  dull  formalities  of  the  drawing-school.  The 
port-crayon  need  not  be  always  in  hand.  As  I 
was  lately  in  a  very  interesting  conversation,  in  a 
railroad  car,  with  an  eminent  artist  of  Philadelphia, 
he  related  to  me  a  pointed  saying  of  our  great  Gil- 
bert Stuart,  dropped  by  the  latter  when  he  was 
painting  in  London  ;  "  If  young  men  are  ever  to 
learn,"  said  he,  "it  must  be  spontaneously.  You 
must  teach  them  to  draw,  as  young  puppies  are 
taught  to  swim ;  chuck  them  in,  and  let  them  take 
their  chance."  It  is  somewhat  so  in  letters ;  at 
least  it  has  been  so  with  the  most  successful. 
Pray,  what  list  of  authors  had  Franklin,  Murray, 
or  Gifford  ? 

When  I  remember  my  boyhood,  I  am  rapt  into 
a  little  fairy -land.  O  how  full  of  rules  were  my 
compulsory  pursuits  !  O  how  free  as  air  my  read- 
ing !  The  dear  old  books  in  which  I  used  to  pore, 
without  direction,  nay,  against  direction — how  do 
they  rise  before  my  memory,  like  ghosts  of  be- 
loved friends  !  Their  very  looks  are  before  me  ; 
I  see  their  very  "form  and  pressure."  Nay, 
smile  not,  reader,  the  odours  of  ancient  volumes, 
perused  by  me  long,  long  ago,  are  in  my  mind's 
nostril  this  blessed  night.  There  is  Sanford  and 
Merton — the  very  first  "  big  book"  I  can  call  to 
mind ;  it  was  given  to  me  by  my  father ;  I  did 
not  so  much  read  it,  as  gloat  over  it.  To  this  day 
6 


62  THE    WORKING-MAN. 

I  cannot  explain  the  charms  of  that  volume  ;  but 
who  ever  read  it  uncharmed  ?  "  Robinson  Crusoe !" 
I  need  not  tell  an  experience  which  is  that  of  aU 
the  world.  "  The  Thousand  and  One  Nights" — « 
It  was  somewhat  a  stolen  enjoyment;  but  not  less 
precious  for  that ;  and  it  opened  an  orient  world, 
into  which,  on  the  mere  strength  of  boyish  fancies 
recollected  and  embalmed,  it  would  have  taken 
little  at  certain  times  to  transport  me  bodily,  as 
those  incomparable  fictions  did  in  spirit.  "  The 
Pilgrim's  Progress" — There  were  two  things 
about  this  immortal  story  which  made  it  dearer 
to  me  than  all  the  rest ;  first,  it  carried  with  it  a 
pleasing  yet  fearful  shuddering  as  before  high  re- 
ligious mystery ;  and,  secondly,  it  was  a  prolonged 
enigma,  and  he  is  no  child  who  loves  not  a  riddle. 
In  later  days,  the  same  work  has  commended 
itself  to  my  riper  judgment,  by  its  solid  sense,  its 
holy  unction,  its  lordly  imaginings,  its  epic  con- 
duct, and  its  "  English  pure  and  undefiled" — my 
mother  tongue — the  dialect,  not  of  the  college  or 
of  books,  but  of  the  market,  the  shop,  and  the 
hall,  I  hope  earnestly,  that  while  they  are  ham- 
mering out  for  us  a  new  language,  to  be  called 
American-English,  and  new-vamping  the  ortho- 
graphy of  all  the  old  writers  in  order  that  the 
books  printed  on  the  two  sides  of  the  water  may 
be  as  unlike  as  possible— I  hope  they  will  leave 
a  little  of  the  racy  idiomatic  speech  of  the  old 
country  still  incorrupt,  in  such  books  as  the  Pil- 
grim's Progress. 


READING    FOR    BEGINNERS.  63 

Set  a  boy  to  read  a  large  book  through,  for  a 
task,  and  you  kill  the  book's  influence  on  him. 
But  spread  works  before  him,  and  let  a  little  child- 
ish caprice  govern  his  choice,  and  he  will  learn 
rapidly.  It  is  not  instruction  merely  that  the 
young  scholar  wants ;  here  is  a  great  mistake ; 
no,  it  is  excitement.  Excitement  is  that  which 
drives  his  soul  on,  as  really  as  steam  does  the 
engine.  But  then  you  must  keep  him  on  the 
track.  And  the  same  thing  holds  in  self-culture. 
Somebody  has  said  that  every  well-educated  man 
is  self-educated ;  and  he  said  not  amiss.  Even  in 
universities  the  mind  is  its  own  great  cultivator. 
Do  for  yourself,  young  reader,  so  far  as  you  know 
how,  what  there  is  perhaps  no  kind  friend  or 
teacher  to  do  for  you.  It  may  be,  while  you  read 
this  page,  in  your  shop  or  garret,  or  by  the  dull 
light  beside  some  greasy  counter,  that  you  would 
gladly  have  a  lift  above  your  present  low  pursuits, 
into  the  world  of  knowledge.  O  that  I  were  near 
you,  to  give  you  such  aid  as  I  have ;  but  in  lieu 
of  this  take  a  friend's  advice.  My  good  fellow, 
■write  down  that  wish.  I  say,  write  it  down. 
Go  now  and  take  a  fair  piece  of  paper,  record 
your  determination  to  get  knowledge.  My  word 
for  it — all  experience  for  it — you  will  not  be  dis 
appointed.  There  are,  probably,  not  many  books 
at  your  command,  but  no  matter.  Many  wealthy 
young  men,  amidst  thousands  of  volumes,  pine 
away  in  listless  ignorance.  Sometimes  we  read 
with  a  double  zest  such  things  as  we  have  to 


it  THE    WORKING-MAN. 

enjoy  by  stealth — after  hours  of  work,  or  before 
day.     What  is  thus  read  sticks  fast. 

The  deep  impressions  made  by  one's  first  read- 
ing are  so  delightful,  that  we  are  glad  to  renew 
them.  It  is  like  a  first  love.  When  the  Bible 
opens  before  me  at  the  story  of  Joseph,  or  the 
Prodigal  Son,  I  am  all  at  once  arrested — my 
thoughts  go  back  to  childhood — a  thousand  pe- 
rusals since  have  not  dispossessed  the  first  ima- 
ginations. They  throng  before  my  mental  vision 
all  the  images  of  that  dreamy  time — all  the  tender 
cares — all  the  little  innocent  misapprehensions. 
What  an  unbought  pleasure  is  here !  Give  me 
therefore  my  small  shelf  of  books,  in  order  that 
each  one  may  be  the  centre  of  such  remembrances. 
Let  others  throng  the  circulating  libraries,  and 
take  the  mingled  alcohol  and  opium  of  the  leche- 
rous and  envious  Byron,  the  puling  and  blasphe- 
mous Shelley,  the  seducing  Bulwer;  give  me  ray 
Bible,  my  Milton,  my  Cowper,  my  Bunyan,  my 
shelf  of  histories,  my  shelf  of  biography,  and  my 
shelf  of  travels,  and  I  will  have  more  "  thick 
coming  fancies"  in  an  hour  than  they  in  a  day. 

I  wish  you  could  be  persuaded  to  let  your 
young  people  run  a  little  out  of  harness.  A  horse 
always  in  shafts  learns  to  stumble.  You  would 
not  send  your  boy  or  your  girl  into  the  orchard  to 
eat  apples  and  pears  by  a  list  of  particulars  ;  no, 
give  them  the  key,  and  let  them  pick  and  choose. 


READING    FOR   ENTERTAINMENT.  65 


XI. 

READING    FOR    ENTERTAINMENT. 

"  Our  kind  relief  against  a  rainy  day, 
We  take  our  book,  and  laugh  our  spleen  away." 

Drtden. 

The  man  whose  days  are  spent  in  labour  does 
not  need  so  great  a  proportion  of  light  reading,  as 
the  professional  man  or  the  student.  Nor  need 
this  paradox  startle  any  one.  As  it  is  true  that 
the  lawyer  or  the  bank-clerk  does  not  need,  when 
evening  comes,  to  rest  his  limbs,  for  the  very 
plain  reason,  that  he  has  not  been  exerting  them, 
and  that  they  are  not  weary ;  so  it  is  equally  true, 
that  the  wheelwright  or  the  turner  does  not  need 
to  relax  his  reasoning  powers,  because  he  has  not 
been  putting  them  to  task.  The  jaded  body  of 
the  workman  claims  its  repose,  the  jaded  mind 
of  the  scholar  claims  its  repose ;  but  the  tired  la- 
bourer may  rest  his  limbs  while  he  studies  mathe- 
matics, just  as  the  exhausted  student  may  refresh 
his  spirit  while  he  saws  wood. 

I  have  long  thought  that  ignorance  or  oversight 

of  this  truth,  has  been  a  great  stumblingblock  in 

the  way  of  the  improvement  of  the  industrious 

classes.     The  flood  of  cheap  novels  and  other 

6* 


$^         .  THE    WORKING-MAN. 

literary  syllabubs  is  so  exuberant,  that,  like  the 
Nile  in  an  overflow,  it  comes  up  to  every  man's 
door.  Those  who  least  need  relaxation  of  mind, 
because  they  have  been  engaged  in  no  mental 
effort,  are  the  principal  patrons  of  this  sort  of 
literature.  I  have  no  doubt  that  most  of  the 
romances  of  our  circulating  libraries  are  worn  out 
in  the  hands  of  working-men  and  women.  If 
their  taste  had  not  been  perverted,  they  w^ould  be 
quite  as  much  entertained  with  a  book  of  science, 
or  an  instructive  history,  as  by  the  frivolous  story; 
but  forgetting  this,  or  having  never  known  it,  they 
go  on  year  after  year,  until  their  minds  lose  all 
vigour,  just  as  completely  as  their  stomachs  would 
have  lost  tone,  if  for  a  like  period  they  had  been 
fed  upon  nothing  but  pastries,  ices,  and  con- 
fections. 

The  demand  for  this  merely  entertaining  lite- 
rature is  evinced  by  the  character  of  the  large 
weekly  newspapers,  and  low-priced  magazines, 
•yvhich  circulate  most  among  operatives.  I  need 
not  name  these ;  our  cities  abound  in  them.  The 
newspapers  to  which  I  allude  are  commonly 
issued  on  Saturday,  and  their  immense  sheet  gives 
occupation  to  many  a  poor  reader  for  the  whole 
of  Sunday.  Now  you  will  observe,  that  a  large 
part  of  the  outer  form  of  these  publications  is  fre- 
quently taken  up  with  just  that  kind  of  reading 
which  is  fitted  to  make  a  sound  mind  sick,  and  a 
feeble  mind  crazy.  Tales  upon  tales  of  love,  of 
liorror,  of  madness,  and  these  often  the  effusions 


READING    FOR    ENTERTAINMENT.  67 

of  the  most  unpractised  and  contemptible  scrib- 
blers, who  rejoice  in  this  channel  for  venting  their 
inanities,  succeed  one  another  week  after  week, 
and  are  the  chief  reading  of  persons  whpm  I  could 
name,  for  year  after  year.  If  a  man  is  bent  upon 
novel-reading,  in  the  name  of  common  reason,  let 
him  go  to  what  is  worth  reading — ^let  him  sate  his 
mind  Avith  Scott,  and  Edgeworth,  and  Ferriar, 
and  Ward ;  but  let  him  not  expose  so  delicate  a 
thing  as  an  undisciplined  mind  to  the  everlasting 
wash  and  ooze  of  such  slops  as  these. 

By  such  a  course  of  reading  the  mind  gets  a 
surfeit:  the  appetite  sickens,  and  so  dies.  Let 
this  become  general,  let  it  become  the  taste  of  the 
country,  and  it  will  be  here  as  it  is  in  France. 
The  palled  interest  must  be  awakened  by  more 
pungent  condiments ;  and  as  old  snufT-takers  some- 
times mingle  cayenne  in  their  pinch,  the  jaded 
novel  readers  will  have  recourse  to  the  double- 
distilled  horror  and  obscenity  of  the  Parisian 
romance.  Symptoms  of  this  condition  of  things 
are  already  apparent,  and  it  is  this  which  makes 
me  the  more  earnest  in  directing  my  young 
readers  to  a  better  and  safer  kind  of  entertain- 
ment. 

"  Habits  of  close  attention,  thinking  heads, 
Become  more  rare  as  dissipation  spreads, 
Till  authors  hear  at  length  one  general  cry — 
Tickle  and  entertain  us,  or  we  die. 
The  loud  demand,  from  year  to  year  the  same, 
Beggars  invention,  and  makes  fancy  lame ; 


68  THE    WORKING-MAN.  « 

Till  farce  itself,  most  mournfully  jejune, 
Calls  for  the  kind  assistance  of  a  tune ; 
And  novels  (witness  every  month's  review) 
!  Belie  their  name,  and  offer  nothing  new."* 

Some  years  ago,  it  was  frequently  necessary 
for  me  to  make  journeys  of  some  hundreds  of 
miles  in  length.  In  taverns,  and  especially  in 
steamboats,  I  found  myself  constantly  in  need  of 
some  reading  which  should  be  a  relief  from  the 
prevalent  listlessness.  Like  everybody  else,  I 
supplied  myself  with  what  is  called  light  reading, 
namely,  the  latest  tales,  romances,  annuals,  maga- 
zines, and  verses ;  and,  like  everybody  else,  I 
found  myself  perpetually  laying  down  the  volume 
in  a  paroxysm  of  insufferable  ennui.  Why  thus  ? 
I  could  not  but  ask.  Such  reading  has  often 
relieved  me  after  a  day  of  hard  study.  Upon 
consideration,  I  was  led  to  believe,  that  a  diet  of 
this  kind  is  no  more  fit  for  a  mind  in  active  health, 
than  water-gruel  for  a  man-of-war's-man.  If  you 
s€rt  out  with  the  purpose  of  being  amused  for  seve- 
ral days  together,  the  project  will  certainly  fall 
through.  When  the  edge  is  on  the  intellect  un- 
abated, it  cannot  be  safely  used  upon  such  small 
matters.  I  was  induced  therefore  on  one  occa- 
sion, as  a  desperate  experiment,  to  take  with  me 
on  a  long  journey  a  book  on  a  philosophical  sub- 
ject in  which  I  was  interested,  and  which,  I  was 
sure,  would  task  my  powers  to  the  utmost ;  and 
whether  I  am  credited  or  not,  I  must  declare  the 
•  Cowpcr. ' 


READING   FOR    ENTERTAINMENT.  6& 

truth,  I  never  found  such  a  resource  against  the 
listlessness  and  weariness  of  a  voyage,  as  in  that 
difficult  volume.  Long  after  my  own  discovery, 
I  met  with  the  advice  of  Johnson :  "  If  you  are 
to  have  but  one  book  with  you  on  a  journey,  let 
it  be  a  book  of  science.  When  you  have  read 
through  a  book  of  entertainment,  you  know  it, 
and  it  can  do  no  more  for  you ;  but  a  book  of 
science  is  inexhaustible."  The  practical  use  I 
make  of  such  truths  is  this :  I  would  have  all  men 
who  spend  their  principal  hours  in  labour,  to  seek 
their  mental  relaxation  in  books  of  a  higher  order 
than  those  which  promise  mere  amusement.  At 
any  rate,  begin  with  the  more  solid,  and  make  the 
trifling  ones  a  last  resort. 

Not  that  I  would  by  any  means  debar  the  young 
reader  from  works  of  gayety  and  bumour;  still 
less  would  I  lock  out  pleasing  narratives,  whether 
histories  or  voyages  and  travels.  These  last  afford 
perhaps  the  most  healthful  relaxation  of  which  a 
wearied  mind  is  capable.  But  let  some  usefiil 
knowledge  always  be  the  object  of  pursuit.  Even 
if  you  seek  the  merest  entertainment,  you  will  find 
this  the  true  policy.  The  nobler  the  game,  the 
greater  the  enthusiasm  of  the  hunter;  although 
every  shot  be  the  same,  yet  the  sportsman  will 
not  waste  powder  upon  wrens.  Make  therefore 
a  fair  experiment  of  the  quality  and  amount  of 
pleasure  which  may  be  derived  from  such  reading 
as  the  following :  First,  Important  History ;  as 
that  of  Greece  and  Rome,  of  England  and  America. 


70  THE    WORKING-MAN. 

Secondly,  Biography ;  beginning  with  old  Plu- 
tarch, the  favourite  of  every  age,  and  including 
the  memoirs  of  the  greatest  men  of  our  own  land. 
Thirdly,  Voyages  and  Travels,  which  give  the 
best  knowledge  of  geography,  in  all  its  extent, 
and  are  especially  useful  in  enlarging  the  views 
of  those  persons,  who,  from  their  calling  in  life, 
cannot  see  much  of  the  world.  Fourthly,  Books 
about  Natural  Philosophy  and  Chemistry;  par- 
ticularly those  which  suggest  many  easy  experi- 
ments. Fifthly,  Books  of  Natural  History; 
some  branch  of  which  you  may  so  far  pursue  as 
to  make  collections.  Sixthly,  Poetry;  the 
choicest  works  of  the  great  masters.  And  if  in 
no  one  of  these  six  chambers  of  knowledge  you 
find  entertainment,  I  must  turn  you  over  to  the 
incurable  ward  of  novel-reading  spinsters  and 
peevish  newsmongers. 


IN    SEARCH   OF    KNOWLEDGE.  71 


XII. 

THE    WORKING-MAN    IN    SEARCH    OP    KNOW- 
LEDGE. 

"  In  dreams,  in  study,  and  in  ardent  thought, 
Thus  was  he  rear'd ;  much  wanting  to  assist 
The  growth  of  intellect,  yet  gaining  more. 
And  every  moral  feeling  of  his  soul 
Strengthen'd  and  braced,  by  breathing  in  content 
The  keen,  the  wholesome  air  of  poverty, 
And  drinking  from  the  well  of  homely  life." 

The  Excursion. 

Although  I  have  said  so  much  in  another 
place  about  the  ways  and  means  of  gaining  know- 
ledge amidst  the  greatest  difficulties,  I  cannot 
refrain  from  touching  once  more  upon  this  favour- 
ite topic*  For  those  who  have  at  heart  the 
mental  improvement  of  working-men,  ought  con- 
stantly to  keep  before  their  minds  the  truth,  that 
there  is  nothing  in  their  situation  which  need 
debar  them  from  the  attainment  of  even  eminence 
in  literature  and  science.  Most  of  our  young 
men,  however,  sit  down  in  a  sort  of  stupor  or 
despondency,  as  if  they  said  to  themselves,^ 
"  Others  may  deal  with  books ;  but  we,  who  must 

•  See  a  great  number  of  instances  in  the  American  Me- 
chanic, pp.  161 — 275. 


72  THE    WORKING-MAN. 

work  for  a  living,  have  no  time  for  such  enter- 
tainments." There  are  a  great  many  in  whom 
the  desire  of  knowledge  has  never  yet  been 
awakened.  There  are  the  two  Riddles,  twin- 
brothers,  working  at  the  same  trade  ;  I  see  those 
young  men  almost  daily,  and  perceive  in  their 
countenances  and  discourse  every  sign  of  intelli- 
gence ;  yet  I  dare  say  they  no  more  think  of 
making  any  advances  in  learning,  than  of  becom- 
ing governors  of  states.  Yet  half  an  hour  a  day, 
properly  bestowed,  would  make  them  men  of  valu- 
able information  in  every  common  branch  of  science. 
If  I  should  urge  John  Crispin  to  apply  himself 
to  books,  he  would  perhaps  drop  his  lapstone 
and  hammer,  and  exclaim,  "  What !  a  shoemaker 
get  learning  !*'  Yes ;  certainly.  Why  not  ? 
Joseph  Pendrell,  William  GifFord,  and  Robert 
Bloomfield  were  all  shoemakers,  and  all  men  of 
learning.  Roger  Sherman  was  a  shoemaker,  and 
he  became  first  a  congress-man  and  then  a  judge. 
He  had  no  education  but  that  of  the  common- 
school,  and  worked  at  his  trade  for  some  time 
after  he  was  of  age.  He  used  to  sit  at  his  bench 
with  a  book  open  before  him,  giving  to  reading 
every  moment  that  his  eyes  could  be  spared.  In 
later  life,  men  of  the  most  finished  education  were 
accustomed  to  look  up  to  him  with  reverence. 
Mr.  Macon  once  said,  "  Roger  Sherman  had  more 
comn>on  sense  than  any  man  I  ever  knew."  Mr. 
Jefferson  once  exclaimed,  as  he  pointed  to  him, 
"  That  is  Mr.  Sherman,  of  Connecticut,  who  never 


IN    SEARCH    OP    KNOWLEDGE.  73 

said  a  foolish  thing  in  his  life."  He  was  a  true 
Christian,  a  defender  of  virtue,  and  a  daily  student 
of  the  Bible. 

In  like  manner,  my  friend  Shem  Blue,  the  car- 
penter, would  stare  if  I  should  hint  to  him  the 
possibility  of  mixing  a  little  study  with  his  work. 
But  I  could  tell  him  of  Samuel  Lee,  one  of  the 
greatest  linguists  now  living,  who  once  handled 
the  plane  and  chisel.  He  began  to  learn  the  car- 
penter's trade  at  the  age  of  twelve,  and  was  seven- 
teen before  he  ever  thought  of  foreign  tongues. 
He  began  with  the  Latin,  in  order  to  understand 
the  quotations  in  English  books.  By  dint  of 
saving  and  pinching  himself,  he  would  buy  volume 
after  volume  at  book-stalls,  and,  reading  at  night, 
went  on  till  he  had  gained  some  knowledge  of 
Greek,  Hebrew,  Chaldee,  and  Syriac.  His  learn- 
ing brought  him  into  notice ;  he  became  a  school- 
master, and  at  length  a  clergyman  and  professor. 
Now  I  do  not  advise  our  young  carpenters  to  study 
the  dead  languages,  unless  they  feel  an  irresistible 
bent  towards  them  ;  but  I  press  on  them  this  in- 
stance to  show,  that  a  little  self-denial  and  perse- 
verance will  enable  them  to  lay  in  a  great  stock 
of  useful  knowledge,  such  as  may  fit  them  for  the 
most  intelligent  society ;  and  perhaps  raise  them 
to  high  office.  A  leading  journal  of  New  York 
informs  us  that  but  a  few  years  ago  Joseph  Rit- 
NER,  late  governor  of  Pennsylvania,  cracked  his 
whip  and  whistled  to  his  six  horse  team  as  briskly 
as  any  other  wagoner  who  crossed  the  AUeghanies 
7 


T*  THE    WORKING-MAN, 

Thomas  Ewing,  a  most  distinguished  senator,  was 
once  known  chiefly  as  an  athletic  woodsman. 
But  there  is  perhaps  no  instance  of  successful 
study,  in  the  midst  of  labour,  which  is  more  en- 
couraging than  that  of  the  blacksmith  whose  his- 
tory has  been  given  to  the  public  through  his  own 
letter  to  Governor  Everett  of  Massachusetts.  This 
sketch  should  not  be  confined  to  the  newspapers. 

"I  was  the  youngest,"  says  the  writer,  "of 
many  brethren,  and  my  parents  were  poor.  My 
means  of  education  were  limited  to  the  advantages 
of  a  district  school,  and  those  again  were  circum- 
scribed by  my  father's  death,  which  deprived  me, 
at  the  age  of  fifteen,  of  those  scanty  opportunities 
which  I  had  previously  enjoyed.  A  few  months 
after  his  decease,  I  apprenticed  myself  to  a  black- 
smith in  my  native  village.  Thither  I  carried  an 
indomitable  taste  for  reading,  which  I  had  pre- 
viously acquired  through  the  medium  of  the  society 
library ;  all  the  historical  works  in  which  I  had  at 
that  time  perused.  At  the  expiration  of  a  little 
more  than  half  my  apprenticeship,  I  suddenly 
conceived  the  idea  of  studying  Latin.  Through 
the  assistance  of  my  elder  brother,  who  had  him- 
self obtained  a  collegiate  education  by  his  own 
exertions,  I  completed  my  Virgil  during  the  even- 
ings of  one  winter.  After  some  time  devoted  to 
Cicero  and  a  few  other  Latin  authors,  I  com- 
menced the  Greek.  At  this  time  it  was  necessary 
that  I  should  devote  every  hour  of  daylight  and  a 
part  of  the  evening  to  the  duties  of  my  apprentice- 


IN   SEARCH   OP    KNOWLEDGE.  75 

ship.  Still  I  carried  my  Greek  grammar  in  my 
hat,  and  often  found  a  moment,  when  I  was  heat- 
ing some  large  iron,  when  I  could  place  my  book 
,  open  before  me  against  the  chimney  of  my  forge, 
and  go  through  with  tiipto,  tupteis,  tuptei,  unper- 
ceived  by  my  fellow-apprentices,  and,  to  my  con- 
fusion of  face,  with  a  detrimental  effect  to  the 
charge  in  my  fire.  At  evening,  I  sat  down  un- 
assisted and  alone  to  the  Iliad  of  Homer,  twenty 
books  of  which  measured  my  progress  in  that 
language  during  the  evenings  of  another  winter. 
I  next  turned  to  the  modern  languages,  and  was 
much  gratified  to  learn  that  my  knowledge  of  the 
Latin  furnished  me  with  a  key  to  the  literature  of 
most  of  the  languages  of  Europe. 

"  This  circumstance  gave  a  new  impulse  to  the 
desire  of  acquainting  myself  with  the  philosophy, 
derivation,  and  affinity  of  the  different  European 
tongues.  I  could  not  be  reconciled  to  limit  my- 
self in  these  investigations  to  a  few  hours  after 
the  arduous  labours  of  the  day.  I  therefore  laid 
down  my  hammer  and  went  to  New  Haven,  where 
I  recited  to  native  teachers  in  French,  Spanish, 
German,  and  Italian.  I  returned  at  the  expiration 
of  two  years  to  the  forge,  bringing  with  me  such 
books  in  those  languages  as  I  could  procure. 
"When  I  had  read  these  books  through,  I  com- 
menced the  Hebrew  with  an  awakened  desire  of 
examining  another  field ;  and  by  assiduous  appli- 
cation I  was  enabled  in  a  few  weeks  to  read  this 
language  with  such  facility,  that  I  allotted  it  to 
myself  as  a  task,  to  read   two  chapters  in  the 


tS  aiiJ'HE    WORKING-MAN, 

Hebrew  Bible  before  breakfast  each  morning ;  this 
and  an  hour  at  noon  being  all  the  time  that  I  could 
devote  to  myself  during  the  day.  After  becoming 
somewhat  familiar  with  this  language,  I  looked 
around  me  for  the  means  of  initiating  myself  into 
the  fields  of  oriental  literature,  and,  to  my  deep 
regret  and  concern,  I  found  my  progress  in  this 
direction  hedged  up  by  the  want  of  requisite 
books.  I  immediately  began  to  devise  means  of 
obviating  this  obstacle ;  and,  after  many  plans,  I 
concluded  to  seek  a  place  as  a  sailor  on  board 
some  ship  bound  to  Europe,  thinking  in  this  way 
to  have  opportunities  of  collecting  at  different 
ports  such  works  in  the  modern  and  oriental  lan- 
guages as  I  found  necessary  for  this  object.  I 
left  the  forge  and  my  native  place  to  carry  this 
plan  into  execution.  I  travelled  on  foot  to  Boston, 
a  distance  of  more  than  a  hundred  miles,  to  find 
some  vessel  bound  to  Europe.  In  this  I  was  dis- 
appointed, and  while  revolving  in  my  mind  what 
steps  to  take,  accidentally  heard  of  the  American 
Antiquarian  Society  in  Worcester.  I  immediately 
bent  my  steps  towards  this  place.  I  visited  the 
hall  of  the  American  Antiquarian  Society,  and 
found  here,  to  my  infinite  gratification,  such  a 
collection  of  ancient,  modern,  and  oriental  lan- 
guages as  I  never  before  conceived  to  be  collected 
in  one  place ;  and,  sir,  you  may  imagine  with 
what  sentiments  of  gratitude  I  was  affected,  when, 
upon  evincing  a  desire  to  examine  some  of  these 
rich  and  rare  works,  I  was  kindly  invited  to  aa 
unlimited  participation  in  all  the  benefits  of  this 


IN   SEARCH   OF    KNOWLEDGE.  77 

noble  institution.  Availing  myself  of  the  kindness 
of  the  directors,  I  spent  about  three  hours  daily  at 
the  hall,  which,  with  an  hour  at  noon,  and  about 
three  in  the  evening,  make  up  the  portion  of  the 
day  which  I  appropriate  to  my  studies,  the  rest 
being  occupied  in  arduous  manual  labour.  Through 
the  facilities  afforded  by  this  institution,  I  have 
been  able  to  add  so  much  to  my  previous  acquaint- 
ance with  the  ancient,  modern,  and  oriental  lan- 
guages, as  to  be  able  to  read  upwards  of  fifty  of 
them  with  more  or  less  facility." 

This,  it  must  be  admitted,  is  an  extreme  case, 
and  is  to  be  regarded  as  a  prodigy.  We  cannot 
expect  to  see  many  such  blacksmiths,  nor  do  we 
need  them;  but  the  instance  proves,  as  Mr.  Everett 
observed,  when  he  introduced  it  to  the  friends  of 
education  in  Bristol,  that  the  mechanic,  the  en- 
gineer, the  husbandman,  the  trader,  have  quite  as 
much  leisure  as  the  average  of  men  in  the  learned 
professions. 

Let  me  close  this  paper  with  a  remark  which 
may  serve  as  an  encouragement  to  many  who  late 
in  life  begin  to  regret  their  neglect  of  past  oppor- 
tunities. There  is  such  a  thing  as  acquiring  wis- 
dom even  without  many  books,  and  without  great 
learning. 

"  Knowledge  and  wisdom,  far  from  being  one, 
Have  ofttimes  no  connexion.    Knowledge  dwells 
In  heads  replete  with  thoughts  of  other  men ;    - 
Wisdom  in  minds  attentive  to  their  own."* 

•  Cowper. 

7» 


78  THE    WORKING-MAN. 


XIII. 

STUDY    BY    STEALTH, 

"  Man's  life,  sir,  being 
So  short,  and  then  the  way  that  leads  unto 
The  knowledge  of  ourselves,  so  long  and  tedious. 
Each  minute  should  be  precious." 

Beaumont  and  Fletcher. 

The  busiest  men  have  some  moments  which 
they  do  not  spend  upon  their  regular  callings : 
these  are  the  moments  which  I  have  so  often  urged 
that  they  should  give  to  study.  Strange  as  some 
may  think  it,  these  unemployed  hours  often  hang 
heavily  even  upon  those  who  have  been  tasked  all 
day.  This  is  the  case  with  all  artisans  whose  work 
has  dead  intermissions ;  with  many  who  only 
labour  by  daylight,  and  with  the  whole  race  of 
city  clerks.  Where  dissipation  does  not  come  in, 
the  mind  will  corrode  itself,  and  become  worn  by 
melancholy  broodings.  This  might  be  happily 
prevented  by  a  little  regidar  study. 

As  a  remarkable  instance  of  the  happy  use  of 
time  borrowed  from  sleep,  I  will  give  the  follow- 
ing account  which  I  have  received  from  a  clergy- 
man who  was  well  acquainted  with  the  subject  of 
the  narrative. 

"In  the  first  settlement  of  New  Virginia,  as 
the  great  valley  west  of  the  Blue  Ridge  was  then 


STUDY   BY   STEALTH.  79 

:  called,  one  of  the  greatest  inconveniences  ex- 
perienced was  the  want  of  schools.  In  a  certain 
neighbourhood  there  was  a  settler  who  had  re- 
ceived an  excellent  English  education,  and  had 
brought  with  him  a  collection  of  choice  books. 
This  farmer  agreed,  in  the  long  nights  of  winter, 
to  give  gratuitous  instruction  to  as  many  of  the 
young  men  of  the  neighbourhood  as  would  resort 
to  him.  The  offer  was  embraced  by  many,  and 
among  these  was  a  modest,  retiring  youth  who 
was  learning  the  carpenter's  trade.  The  instructor 
having  observed  that  this  youth,  whom  1  will 
designate  by  his  initials  S.  L.,  had  a  thirst  for 
learning  and  was  fond  of  reading,  paid  particular 
attention  to  liim,  and  not  only  lent  him  good  books, 
but  gave  him  good  advice  as  to  the  best  method 
of  redeeming  time.  S.  L.  profited  by  this  advice, 
and  being  obliged  to  work  hard  all  day,  he  adopted 
the  practice  of  rising  before  day,  and  spending 
two  hours  in  reading,  before  other  people  were 
out  of  bed.  This  practice  grew  into  a  settled 
habit,  and  was  uniformly  pursued  through  a  long 
life,  except  when  interrupted  by  bad  health  or 
some  other  unusual  circumstance.  By  industry 
and  economy  the  young  man  acquired  not  only 
competence  but  affluence.  His  house  was  dis- 
tinguished for  hospitality  and  good  order.  But 
what  surprised  all  strangers,  S.  L.  had  acquired  a 
stock  of  useful  knowledge  on  almost  all  practical 
■subjects.  There  were  few  valuable  books  in 
English,  then  common,  with  the  contents  of  which 


80  THE    WORKING-MAN. 

he  was  not  well  acquainted.  Theology  was  his 
favourite  pursuit,  with  all  branches  of  which  he 
had  an  intimate  knowledge.  But  his  reading  was 
extended  to  all  useful  subjects.  He  could  con- 
verse with  the  divine  upon  all  the  nice  points  of 
theology  ;  with  the  lawyer  and  politician  upon 
the  great  principles  of  natural  law  ;  and  with  the 
physician  on  the  structure  of  the  human  frame, 
and  the  nature  and  cure  of  the  diseases  to  which 
it  is  liable.  While  his  mind  was  thus  richly 
stored  with  useful  knowledge,  he  never  made  any 
parade  of  his  learning,  nor  had  a  semblance  of 
pedantry ;  indeed,  he  did  not  assume  any  supe- 
riority on  this  account  over  his  more  ignorant 
neighbours.  His  judgment  was  as  sound  and 
discriminating  as  his  knowledge  was  extensive ; 
and  his  truth  and  integrity  were  never  called  in 
question.  As  a  magistrate,  as  an  elder,  as  an 
arbitrator,  he  was  held  in  high  esteem ;  and  as 
the  patron  of  literary  institutions. 

"  In  his  latter  years  he  took  occasion  to  speak 
in  the  way  of  affectionate  advice  to  a  descendant 
of  his  early  instructor,  on  which  occasion  he  said, 
'  I  feel  it  to  be  my  duty  to  use  this  freedom  towards 
the  grandson  of  one  to  wJiom  I  owe  all  the  little 
knowledge  that  I  possess.  It  was  your  grand- 
father's counsel,  and  his  lending  me  books  that 
first  put  me  in  the  way  of  reading  and  acquiring 
useful  knowledge ;  and  therefore  I  cannot  but 
feel  interested  in  the  temporal  and  spiritual  wel- 
fare of  his  offspring.' " 


STUDY    BY    STEALTH.  fS 

Dr.  Johnson  used  to  relate,  that  he  was  once 
applied  to  by  a  man  who  was  clerk  to  a  very  emi- 
nent trader,  and  who  was  half-crazed  with  some 
scrupulosity  of  conscience.  "  I  asked  him,"  said 
Johnson,  "when  he  left  the  counting-house  of  an 
evening  ?  '  At  seven  o'clock,  sir.'  '  And  when 
do  you  go  to  bed,  sir  ?'  *  At  twelve  o'clock.' 
'  Then,'  replied  I ;  '  I  have  at  least  learned  thus 
much  by  my  new  acquaintance — that  five  hours 
of  the  four-and-twenty  unemployed  are  enough 
for*a  man  to  go  mad  in :  so  I  would  advise  you, 
sir,  to  study  algebra,  if  you  are  not  an  adept 
already  in  it;  your  head  would  get  less  muddy.'  "* 
In  correspondence  with  this,  the  same  great  scholar 
used  to  advise  young  people  never  to  be  without 
a  book  in  their  pocket,  to  be  read  at  times  when 
they  had  nothing  else  to  do.  "  It  has  been  by 
that  means,"  said  he  one  day  to  a  boy  at  Mr. 
Thrale's,  "  that  all  my  knowledge  has  been  gained, 
except  what  I  have  picked  up  by  running  about 
the  world  with  my  wits  ready  to  observe,  and  my 
tongue  ready  to  talk." 

Learn  to  husband  your  odd  moments.  While 
a  companion  keeps  you  out  of  employment  you 
may  gain  a  new  idea.  I  have  been  acquainted 
with  a  man  who  committed  to  memory  much 
valuable  matter  while  he  was  shaving ;  and  have 
known  many  who  were  accustomed  to  read  on 
horseback ;  one  of  these  being  the  late  leamed 
and  eloquent  Dr.  Speece  of  Virginia.  Since  the 
•  Croker's  Boswell:  178U 


3^  THE    WORKING-MAN. 

application  of  steam  to  spinning,  those  who  attend 
the  mules  may  read  during  the  intervals.  A  mule 
spinner  in  England  told  Mr.  Tuffnell,  that  in  this 
manner  he  had  perused  several  volumes.  While 
dinner  waits,  one  may  study  a  minute,  or  even 
write.  "  I  had  heard,"  says  Madame  de  Genlis, 
*'  that  M.  d'Aguesseau  had  written  in  a  few  years 
four  volumes  quarto,  by  employing  the  fifteen 
minutes  a  day  which  Madame  d'Aguesseau  occu- 
pied in  arranging  her  dress  before  coming  down 
to  dinner.  I  profited  by  the  example.  The  hour 
of  dinner  at  the  Palais  Royal  was  fixed  at  two, 
but  the  Duchesse  de  Chartres  was  never  ready  for 
a  quarter  of  an  hour  later;  and  when  I  came  down 
at  the  appointed  time,  I  was  always  desired  to 
wait  fifteen  or  twenty  minutes.  I  spent  that  time 
in  writing  in  a  distinct  and  small  hand  a  selection 
of  poetry  from  various  authors."  Here  is  a  les- 
son, the  benefit  of  which  need  not  be  confined  to 
lords  and  ladies.  In  shops,  and  factories,  and 
sitting-rooms,  and  nurseries,  the  same  thing  may 
be  attempted.  Make  the  most  of  reading  aloud. 
Where  there  is  a  room  full  of  people,  one  who 
has  leisure  may  thus  instruct  a  dozen,  or  a  score  ; 
provided  the  work  is  not  noisy.  In  country 
places,  or  where  operations  are  carried  on  at 
home,  a  little  child  may  instruct  the  whole  family. 
The  wife  and  daughters  may  hear  as  well  as  sew. 
Indeed,  it  needs  but  little  contrivance,  in  some 
large  families,  to  have  some  instruction  or  enter- 
tainment going  on  all  the  while. 


STUDY   BY    STEALTH.  83f 

'  There  are  few  men  who  do  not  undervalue 
what  may  be  attained  drop  by  drop.  But  rocks 
are  worn  away  thus,  and  fortunes  are  made  thus. 
Through  the  little  slit  in  the  counter,  pence  and 
sixpences  fall  into  the  till,  which  in  the  end  make 
the  tradesman's  fortune.  Why  should  not  know- 
ledge be  gained  in  the  same  way  ?  That  it  is  not, 
is  generally  because  it  is  not  sought ;  no  plan  is 
laid;  no  effort  begun.  "  It  is  astonishing,"  says 
Sir  Walter  Scott,  "  how  far  even  half  an  hour  a 
day,  regularly  bestowed  on  one  object,  will  carry 
a  man  in  making  himself  master  of  it.  The  habit 
of  dawdling  away  time  is  easily  acquired,  and  so 
is  that  of  putting  every  moment  either  to  use  or 
amusement."  In  order  to  gain  the  most,  the  book 
must  be  chosen,  to  prevent  all  vacillation  ;  and  in 
the  very  spot,  to  prevent  all  delay.  It  is  well  if 
it  be  in  the  pocket,  or  on  tlie  bench,  or  ready 
opened  at  the  place  in  the  window-seat  O !  who 
but  those  who  have  experienced  it  can  tell  the 
rapture  with  whicli  knowledge  is  gathered  in 
these  hurried  moments  !  What  is  thus  read  can- 
not but  stick  fast.  The  man  who  studies  thus 
keeps  his  mind  always  on  the  alert.  While  the 
wealthy  scholar  often  lounges  away  whole  after- 
noons on  the  sofa  of  his  library,  unable  to  fix 
upon  a  topic  of  study,  tlie  poor  fellow  Avho  hangs 
over  a  book-stall,  or  snatches  a  moment  from  his 
work,  is  enjoying  a  paradise  of  intellectual  satis- 
faction. These  are  the  cheap  pleasures  which 
can  be  caught  only  under  pressure  :  for  there  are 


84^  THE    WORKING-MAN. 

joys  peculiar  to  men  in  straits.  I  have  cited 
Johnson :  his  greatest  attainments  were  made 
during  his  greatest  poverty.  At  one  time,  when 
he  was  called  upon  by  a  learned  friend,  he  had  but 
one  chair  in  his  apartment,  and  that  stood  on  three 
legs  :  he  probably  enjoyed  his  books  as  much  as 
when  his  library  consisted  of  five  thousand  volumes. 
Every  child  knows  the  avidity  with  which  he 
poaches  among  forbidden  books.  Little  Walter 
Scott  used  to  creep  out  of  bed  and  read  for  several 
hours  by  fire-light :  no  man  has  done  more  to  lay 
simdar  temptations  in  the  way  of  others.  In  fine, 
where  there  is  a  will  there  will  be  a  way;  and 
there  is  nothing  so  much  to  be  deplored  as  the 
stupid  indifference  with  which  many  who  most 
need  the  awakening  influence  of  letters,  will  re- 
ceive all  my  suggestions.  Yet,  if  one  in  five 
hundred  be  helped  up  a  single  round  of  the  ladder, 
I  shall  be  of  good  cheer  still. 


THE   ART    OF    DRAWING.  86 


XIV. 

THE    ART    OF    DRAWING   VALUABLE    TO 
MECHANICS. 

"  From  hence,  the  rudiments  of  art  began ; 
A  coal,  or  chalk,  first  imitated  man: 
Perhaps  the  shadow,  taken  on  a  wall, 
Gave  outlines  to  the  rude  originaL" 

Many  persons  look  upon  drawing  as  a  mere 
accomplishment ;  something  fitted  for  the  misses 
of  a  boarding-school,  or  the  parlour  of  a  travelling' 
dandy.  This  is  a  very  partial  and  absurd  view 
of  the  subject.  However  the  art  may  be  abused, 
as  the  sister  art  of  writing  also  is,  it  is,  in  many 
respects,  and  to  many  persons,  one  of  the  useful 
rather  than  the  fine  arts.  It  has  been  properly 
said,  by  Mr.  Rembrandt  Peale,  that  writing  is 
nothing  else  than  drawing  the  forms  of  letters ; 
and  drawing  is  little  more  than  writing  the  forms 
of  objects. 

If  proper  methods  were  employed,  the  art  might 
be  very  advantageously  introduced  into  the  primary 
instruction  of  every  school.  It  has  a  manifest 
tendency  to  cultivate  the  faculty  of  accurate  obser- 
vation, and  there  is  no  trade  in  which  form  is 
concerned,  to  which  it  may  not  contribute  in  a 
8 


88r  THE    WORKING-MAN. 

high  degree.  The  architect  and  the  painter  must 
of  course  be  draftsmen  ;  but  we  may  add  to  these 
every  trade  which  regards  decoration.  To  have 
freedom  and  grace  in  sketching  is  of  value  to 
weavers,  upholsterers,  paper-hangers,  coach-ma- 
kers and  trimmers,  calico-printers,  silver-platers, 
turners,  and  many  other  classes  of  artisans  which 
need  not  now  be  named. 

Almost  a  century  ago,  in  1741,  the  Bishop  of 
St.  Asaph  published  a  sermon  upon  the  then  un- 
popular subject  of  general  education,  in  which  are 
found  the  following  remarkable  suggestions,  which 
it  seems  to  be  reserved  for  our  age  to  carry  into 
executioiv  "  Several  gentlemen  of  great  know- 
ledge in  business,  true  friends  to  these  schools, 
and  prudently  desirous  to  establish  a  suitable  plan 
of  education  in  them,  have  yet  been  of  opinion, 
that  if  tlie  children  were  taught,  as  they  might  be 
at  small  expense,  something  of  the  art  of  draw- 
ing, it  would  prove  beneficial  in  several  respects. 
For  this  they  urge  the  great  perfection  to  which 
silk  manufactures  are  now  advanced  in  England, 
so  as  to  equal  if  not  exceed  a  rival  nation  in  that 
commodity,  except  in  the  figure,  and  what  is 
called  the  fancy  of  a  pattern,  which  this  instruc- 
tion might  supply :  that  in  France  the  very  poorest 
of  the  children  are  all  taught  to  draw;  that  the 
benefits  of  that  branch  of  skill  are  very  great,  for 
it  not  only  multiplies  persons  capable  of  drawing 
patterns,  and  thereby  lessens  the  expense  to  the 
manufacturer,  but  likewise  greatly  assists  in  the 


THE    ART    OP    DRAWING.  87 

performance  of  the  work  itself,  as  a  workman 
who  can  himself  draw  a  pattern  will  finish  with 
greater  truth  and  greater  despatch,  any  given  pat- 
tern, wliether  drawn  by  his  own  or  by  another 
hand."  The  same  remarks,  with  little  alteration, 
might  be  applied  to  the  work  of  cabinet-makers, 
moulders,  founders,  and  especially  the  makers 
and  decorators  of  porcelain  and  other  fine  ware. 

In  1835,  a  report  was  printed  by  a  Select  Com- 
mittee of  the  House  of  Commons,  on  the  state  of 
arts  as  applied  to  manufactures  ;  in  this  a  number 
of  statements  occur,  which  confirm  the  view  I  am 
now  presenting.  As  it  regards  the  silk-manufac- 
ture, Mr.  Skene  testified  that  the  English  work- 
men copied  their  patterns  almost  entirely  from 
the  French.  As  to  the  uses  of  design,  Mr.  Har- 
rington, an  eminent  silk-manufacturer,  said  to  the 
committee  : — "  We  would  willingly,  at  the  present 
time,  engage  a  man  at  a  handsome  salary,  con- 
versant with  the  principle  of  weaving,  as  a  designer, 
and  also  to  put  the  pattern  upon  paper."  The  im- 
portance of  cultivated  taste  in  drawing,  even  with 
respect  to  iron-manufacture,  will  appear  from  the 
evidence  of  Mr.  Smith,  of  Sheffield,  a  partner  in 
a  house  which  expends  about  six  thousand  dollars 
a  year  in  models  for  stove  grates  and  fenders ;  this 
gentleman  declarmg  that  he  would  not  hesitate  to 
spend  two  or  three  hundred  pounds  in  a  model 
for  a  grate,  if  the  pattern  were  protected.  Lei 
the  reader  call  to  mind  American  stoves,  in  which 
a  Gothic  structure  has  been  supported  by  four 


as*'.  THE    WORKING-MAN. 

claw-feet !  Messrs.  Rundell  and  Bridge,  the  cele- 
brated jewellers,  employed  a  person  to  design  for 
them,  to  whom  they  paid  more  than  two  thousand 
dollars  a  year,  and  supplied  him  with  a  house  to 
live  in.  Charles  Toplis,  Esq.,  a  vice-president 
of  the  London  Mechanics'  Institute,  gave  in  evi- 
dence as  his  opinion  that  drawing  was  of  high 
value  to  a  large  portion  of  inventive  artisans. 
"All  works  of  construction,"  says  he,  "require 
to  be  preceded  by  a  design  on  paper,  or  a  propor- 
tionate delineation,  which  is  often  to  be  done  by 
the  workman  himself.  Workmen  in  these  branches 
must  therefore  be  necessarily  trained  to  the  accu- 
rate use  of  drawing-instruments,  and  their  opera- 
tions are  frequently  much  assisted  when  they  can 
express  their  designs  by  sketches  made  by  the 
unguided  hand.  The  workmen  whose  province 
it  is  to  shape  and  give  form  to  materials,  are  greatly 
aided  in  their  operations  when  they  can  delineate 
the  contours  of  the  forms  they  wish  to  impart,  or 
can  model  them  in  a  yielding  matter ;  and  their 
taste  is  necessarily  improved  by  studying  the 
selected  forms  set  before  them  for  imitation  during 
the  course  of  their  instruction  in  drawing  or  mo- 
delling." Again :  "  In  the  porcelain  manufacture," 
says  Mr.  Toplis,  "it  is  requisite  that  a  painter 
there  should  be  able  to  paint  landscapes  and  other 
natural  objects,  perhaps  to  compose  pictures  ;  but 
at  all  events  he  should  be  able  to  copy  a  landscape 
and  other  representation  accurately." 

The  interior  decoration  of  houses,  whether  by 


THE    ART    OF    DRAWING.  89 

means  of  the  builder  and  joiner,  or  the  painter, 
paper-hanger,  and  upholsterer,  presents  a  wide 
field  for  the  display  of  taste  and  genius  in  the  art 
of  design.  In  the  examination  before  the  com- 
mittee of  the  House  of  Commons,  Mr.  Cockerell, 
the  distinguished  architect,  explained  the  opinions 
of  the  ancient  Greeks  on  this  subject.  "  We 
know,"  said  he,  "  that  a  stranger  who  established 
a  new  branch  of  manufacture  in  Athens  obtained 
the  rights  of  a  citizen.  Athens  and  iEgina  were 
the  greatest  manufactories  of  Greece  in  all  works 
connected  with  fine  arts.  The  artists  of  ^Egina 
had  more  commissions  in  all  parts  of  Greece  than 
any  other  nation.  The  manufacture  of  bronzes, 
especially  candelabra,  is  celebrated  by  Pliny." 
Mr.  C.  H.  Smith,  a  sculptor  of  architectural  orna- 
ments, stated  to  the  committee,  that  he  always 
found  those  workmen  who  could  draw,  if  ever  so 
little,  were  more  useful  to  him  than  those  who 
were  totally  unable  to  use  a  pencil.  "  I  recently," 
said  he,  "  sent  my  foreman  into  Yorkshire  with 
work ;  on  his  arrival,  he  found  difficulties  arose 
which  he  had  not  (nor  had  I)  anticipated ;  but  by 
letter  to  me,  illustrated  by  his  sketches,  he  ex- 
plained all  that  I  could  wish  for."  There  are 
many  cases  in  which  an  exact  draft  will  enable 
an  architect  or  workman  to  ascertain,  without  cal- 
culation, the  extent  and  direction  of  lines  which, 
but  for  this,  would  demand  the  most  abstruse 
investigations  of  mathematics.  I  have  also  been 
informed  by  a  gentleman  much  conversant  with 
8* 


HW)  THE    WORKING-MAN. 

such  matters,  that  in  cases  where  there  is  doubt 
as  to  the  strength  of  materials  or  other  qualities 
of  large  engines,  manufacturers  find  great  advan- 
tage in  making  a  draught  of  the  size  of  nature, 
from  the  inspection  of  which  they  can  form  con- 
jectures approaching  to  absolute  accuracy.  It  is 
believed  that  our  great  Fulton,  in  his  long  train 
of  experiments,  received  incalculable  aid  from  his 
expertness  in  the  art  of  design ;  for  he  was  not 
merely  a  draughtsman,  but  a  master  of  painting 
and  perspective. 

It  is  stated  by  Mr.  Guillotte,  a  maker  of  the 
Jacquard  looms,  that  art  is  much  cheaper  in  France 
than  in  England ;  of  course  far  cheaper  than  in 
America.  A  French  capitalist  employs  three  or 
four  artists,  where  in  England  one  artist  would 
supply  eight  or  ten  manufacturers.  Thus,  in 
England,  the  designer  of  the  pattern  and  he  who 
transfers  it  to  the  manufacture  are  distinct  persons ; 
in  France,  the  workman  is  himself  the  artist. 
"The  French,"  says  Mr.  Cockerell,  "have  long 
been  celebrated  for  their  attention  to  design  in 
manufactures.  Their  zeal  in  this  pursuit  is  no- 
where more  manifest  than  in  their  recent  prosecu- 
tion of  the  shawl  trade — in  the  introduction  both 
of  the  material  and  pattern  of  the  Cachemire  shawl 
by  M.  Fernaux,  and  in  the  later  investigations  of 
M.  Couder.  M.  Couder  has  established  a  school 
for  shawl  designs  at  Paris." 

In  Prussia,  the  national  system  includes  instruc- 
tion in  the  principles  of  art.      There  are  four 


THE    ART    OF    DRAWING.  91 

schools  of  design,  at  Breslau,  Kcsnigsberg,  Dant- 
zic,  and  Cologne.  Professor  Beuth,  the  director 
of  the  Trade  Institution  at  Berlin,  several  years 
ago  published  a  work  at  the  expense  of  the  govern- 
ment, with  copperplate  engravings  of  models  from 
the  ancients  and  the  middle  ages,  for  the  use  of 
the  pupils.  "  It  is  stated,"  says  the  committee 
above  named,  "  that  the  influence  of  Prof.  Beuth's 
publication  is  already  perceptible  in  the  shops  and 
dwelling-houses  at  Berlin."  Drawing  is  taught  in 
every  school  in  Bavaria.  At  Bruges,  gratuitous 
instruction  in  drawing  is  given  to  six  or  seven 
hundred  young  men,  and  prizes  are  awarded 
annually ;  something  of  the  same  kind  is  observed 
at  Antwerp.  Besides  this  encouragement,  it  may 
be  mentioned  that  in  England  cotton-prints  are 
protected  for  three  months.  In  France,  when  a 
boy  draws  well,  and  shows  genius,  he  is  in  great 
demand  among  the  leading  houses,  and  is  often 
fortunate  enough  to  be  taken  as  a  partner. 

Many  facts  might  be  stated,  which  would  show 
that  far  more  attention  is  paid  to  this  useful  art  in 
France  and  Switzerland  than  among  ourselves. 
Among  these  a  striking  one  is  extracted  from  M. 
Siraond's  Switzerland.  "  M.  de  Candolle,  Pro- 
fessor of  Botany  at  Geneva,  but  whose  reputation 
is  European,  made  use,  in  a  course  of  lectures,  of 
a  very  valuable  collection  of  drawings  of  American 
plants,  intrusted  to  him  by  a  celebrated  Spanish 
botanist,  who  having  occasion  for  this  collection 
sooner  than  was  expected,  sent  for  it  back  again. 


93  THE    WORKING-MAN. 

M.  de  Candolle,  having  communicated  the  circum- 
stance to  his  audience,  Avith  the  expression  of  his 
regrets,  some  ladies  who  attended  the  lectures 
offered  to  copy,  with  the  aid  of  some  of  their 
friends,  the  whole  collection  in  a  week;  and  the 
task  was  actually  performed.  The  drawings, 
eight  hundred  and  sixty  in  number,  and  filling 
thirteen  folio  volumes,  were  executed  by  one  hun- 
dred and  fourteen  female  artists  ;  one  of  the  ladies 
indeed  did  forty  of  them.  In  most  cases,  the 
principal  parts  only  of  each  plant  are  coloured, 
the  rest  only  traced  with  accuracy :  the  execution 
in  general  very  good,  and  in  some  instances  quite 
masterly.  There  is  not,  perhaps,  another  town 
of  twenty-three  thousand  souls,  where  such  a 
number  of  female  artists,  the  greater  part  of  course 
amateurs,  could  be  found."  The  instance  is  in 
point  to  show  how  easily  and  how  widely  a  degree 
of  skill  in  this  art  may  be  diffused.  That  which 
is  learned  by  so  many  may  be  easily  learned. 

I  hope  some  readers  of  these  liints  will  be  led 
forthwith  to  furnish  themselves  with  drawing  ma- 
terials. The  extensive  class  of  house-painters 
contains  many  who  might  rise  to  great  eminence. 
I«et  me  address  them  in  the  language  of  one  of 
their  own  craft,  Mr.  D.  R.  Hay  of  Edinburgh. 
He  was  asked  by  the  committee,  "  What  do  you 
consider  the  best  line  of  study  for  persons  intended 
for  a  profession  like  your  own,  or  best  adapted  to 
improve  the  taste  of  the  working-class  generally?" 
He  replied;  "It  is  in  the  first  place  to  initiate 


THE    ART    OF    DRAWING.  93 

them  in  the  drawing  of  large  symmetrical  figures 
by  the  hand."  Symmetrical  figures  are  such  as 
squares,  ovals,  and  circles.  They  should  then 
practise  undulations  and  volutes.  Their  attention 
should  then  be  directed  to  the  vegetable  kingdom, 
and  they  should  begin  their  practice  by  studying 
from  large  well-developed  leaves.  All  the  common 
woods,  that  grow  in  such  profusion  by  our  hedge- 
rows and  road-sides,  as  also  in  the  wildest  and 
most  sterile  parts  of  the  country,  are  worthy  of 
the  study  and  attention  of  those  who  wish  to  im- 
prove their  taste  in  regard  to  what  is  really  elegant 
or  beautiful  in  form.  Both  grace  and  elegance  of 
form  are  to  be  found  in  the  common  dock,  tho 
thistle,  the  fern,  or  even  in  a  stalk  of  corn  or 
barley.  The  study  of  such  objects  is  within  the 
reach  of  all  classes ;  and  those  who  thus  form 
their  taste,  when  they  come  to  study  the  orna- 
mental remains  of  Greece  and  Rome,  will  find 
themselves  familiar  with  the  source  from  which 
such  designs  are  derived. 


94  ■■',  THE    WORKING-MAN. 

XV. 

THE    CULTIVATION    OF    MEMORY. 

"  Wealth,  gathered  long  and  slowly ;  thoughts  divine 
Heap  that  full  treassu re-house ;  and  thou  hast  made 
The  gems  of  many  a  spirit's  ocean  thine ; 
—Shall  the  dark  waters  to  oblivion  bear 
A  pyramid  so  fair  1" 

Hemans. 

This  paper  may  catch  the  eye  of  some  young 
man  whose  earnest  desire  it  is  to  improve  his 
mind,  and  who  is  carrying  on,  to  the  best  of  his 
ability,  the  work  of  self-education.  Such  a  one, 
I  take  for  granted,  will  not  despise  any  suggestions 
bearing  on  his  main  pursuit,  from  an  unknown 
adviser  who  has  long  been  making  an  endeavour 
of  the  very  same  kind.  My  remarks  are  intended 
to  bear  upon  a  single  faculty ;  that  is  to  say,  on 
the  memory. 

Words  would  be  wasted  if  I  were  to  set  about 
the  task  of  showing  the  importance  of  the  human 
memory.  But  while  all  acknowledge  this,  I  do 
not  believe  there  is  one  of  our  intellectual  powers 
which  is  more  neglected  and  even  abused,  and 
this  even  in  our  courses  of  popular  education ; 
and,  if  I  err  not,  it  is  a  fault  which  becomes  every 
day  more  common.     The  error  of  former  ages 


THE    CULTIVATION    OF   MEMORY.  95 

was  one  directly  opposite ;  and  as  extremes  often 
concur,  it  still  shows  itself  in  some  particular 
branches  of  study ;  but  the  popular  method  leaves 
memory  very  much  in  the  background. 

There  is  nothing  in  which  there  is  more  quackery 
than  in  our  public  schools ;  and  this  is  no  longer 
wonderful,  when  we  consider  in  how  many  cases 
the  instruction  of  youth  is  the  dernier  resort  of 
those  who  can  make  their  bread  in  no  other  way. 
An  active  competition  springs  up  between  rival 
teachers,  and  every  means  is  used  to  give  eclat 
and  notoriety.  It  is  the  vanity  of  our  age  to  be 
philosophic  ;  the  phrase  is  applied  to  every  thing. 
We  are  all  philosophers.  We  all  babble  concern- 
ing Bacon,  and  the  Inductive  Philosophy.  Thou- 
sands who  have  never  got  the  first  notion  of  what 
an  induction  is,  descant  upon  this  or  that  school 
or  school-book  as  being  on  the  principles  of  the 
inductive  system.  Our  babes  learn  the  A  B  C  on 
the  principles  of  the  immortal  Bacon. 

All  this  would  be  very  innocent,  if  it  were  not 
made  a  stalking-horse  for  the  introduction  of 
noxious  errors  in  education  ;  and  you  had  better 
filch  a  purse  from  me,  than  set  me  awry  in  bring- 
ing up  my  children.  It  is  a  part  of  this  rigmarole 
of  smattering  teachers,  to  declare  that  all  the  old 
ways  of  teaching  were  slavish  and  useless.  I 
agree  that,  in  some  respects,  some  of  them  were 
so.  As  a  general  declaration,  however,  it  is  far 
from  being  true.  Our  new  instructers  teach  phi 
losophically.     They  educe  the  mind.     They  are 


B6  THE    WORKING-MAN. 

resolved  to  teach  nothing  but  what  the  child  can 
understand  as  it  goes  along.  Therefore  all  the 
old  rules  and  antiquated  catechisms  are  thrust 
aside ;  they  are  a  mere  load  of  undigested  stuff 
upon  the  mind.  The  little  infant  prattlers  are 
forsooth  to  analyze  every  thing.  They  chop  logic 
with  you.  Every  thing  is  made  gaudy  and  at- 
tractive ;  all  rules  become  illustrations ;  and  all 
journeying  to  science  is  on  the  royal  road. 

Of  other  evils  consequent  upon  this  method  it 
is  not  within  my  scope  to  speak,  but  I  adduce  its 
bad  effects  in  the  affair  above  mentioned.  Accord- 
ing to  this  plan  the  memory  is  an  inferior  power, 
to  be  used  as  litde  as  possible ;  and  as  a  matter 
of  fact  it  is  immeasurably  less  tasked  in  all  our 
public  schools,  than  it  was  thirty  years  ago. 
Everywhere,  among  young  men,  I  hear  the  most 
honest  complaints  about  defect  of  memory;  and 
if  things  go  on  as  they  have  begun,  we  shall  do 
all  within  our  power  to  reduce  it  to  imbecility.  I 
appeal  to  the  experience  and  observation  of  parents : 
let  us  come  to  plain  fact.  Do  your  children  com- 
mit to  memory  as  much  as  you  used  to  do  ?  I 
ask  not  whether  it  is  for  better  or  for  worse,  hut 
do  they  bring  home  as  many  evening-tasks  as  you 
once  did  ?  Do  tlie  boys  make  the  house  resound 
with  passages  out  of  Milton  and  Dryden,  and  with 
"capping  verses"?  Do  the  girls  carry  in  their 
memory,  as  you  used  to  do,  scores  of  fine  extracts 
from  Pope  and  Thomson  ?  Your  reply  will  attest 
the  truth  of  ray  remark,  that  this  'faculty  is  neglected 


THE    CULTIVATION    OF   MEMORY.  97 

in  our  schools :  we  may  have  some  indemnity, 
but  unquestionably  the  memory  is  not  improved. 

This  is  a  clear  going  backwards.  Nor  is  it 
single ;  it  is  part  and  parcel  of  a  system.  The 
plan  of  the  age  comprises,  the  spirit  of  the  age 
almost  insures,  this  very  thing.  Look  about 
among  your  friends  ;  compare  the  young  with  the 
old.  I  venture  to  anticipate  your  conclusion ;  you 
find  the  memory  of  the  latter  more  rich  in  special 
deposites  of  knowledge  than  the  former;  more 
fine  old  ingots  of  fact  and  poetry  laid  up  in  trea- 
sure. This  is  one  of  the  evils  attendant  on  a  great 
blessing :  it  is  the  tax  we  pay  for  the  multiplicity 
of  our  books.  Where  books  are  many,  we  can 
only  touch  and  go,  as  travellers  drink  of  springs 
by  the  way;  where  they  are  few,  we  resort  to 
them  again  and  again,  as  men  drink  out  of  their 
own  wells.  The  poor  man  with  few  books  is 
observed,  even  in  our  day,  to  peruse  and  reperuse 
until  he  has  mastered  their  whole  contents.  Be- 
fore the  invention  of  printing  this  was  often  the 
case ;  as  it  now  is  in  those  Mohammedan  coun- 
tries where  all  books  are  in  manuscript.  The 
poems  of  Homer  were  repeated  for  generations 
by  strolling  rhapsodists,  or  minstrels,  before  they 
were  committed  to  writing ;  and  long  after  they 
were  transcribed,  they  were  in  whole  or  in  large 
part  treasured  in  the  minds  of  the  people.  It  was 
said  in  my  hearing  by  Dr.  Wolff,  the  celebrated 
missionary,  that  a  European  or  American  would 
be  astonished  at  the  number  of  persons  in  Persia 
9 


98  THE    WORKING-MAN. 

who  know  by  rote  all  the  productions  of  their 
principal  poets. 

Among  the  Mohammedans  it  is  a  common 
achievement  to  commit  the  Koran  to  memory. 
The  following  Egyptian  anecdote  is  related  in 
Mr.  Lane's  "  Manners  and  Customs  of  the  Mo- 
dern Egyptians :" — 

"A  man  was  employed  in  Cairo  to  be  a  school- 
master. He  could  neither  read  nor  write,  but  he 
could  recite  the  Koran  from  beginning  to  end. 
His  plan  was,  to  hear  the  boys  repeat  their  les- 
sons, which  are  always  in  this  book.  As  to  the 
writing,  he  employed  the  head-boy  in  the  school 
to  attend  to  this,  pretending  that  his  eyes  were 
weak.  A  few  days  after  he  had  taken  upon  him- 
self this  office,  a  poor  woman  brought  a  letter  for 
him  to  read  to  her  from  her  son,  who  had  gone 
on  pilgrimage.  He  pretended  to  read  it,  but  said 
nothing;  and  the  woman,  inferring  from  his  silence 
that  the  letter  contained  bad  news,  said  to  him, 
» Shall  I  shriek  ?"  He  answered,  '  Yes.'  '  Shall 
I  rend  my  clothes  ?'  He  answered,  '  Yes.'  So 
the  poor  woman  returned  to  her  house,  and  with 
her  assembled  friends  performed  the  lamentation 
and  other  ceremonies  usual  on  the  occasion  of 
death.  Not  many  days  after  this  her  son  arrived, 
and  she  asked  him  what  he  could  mean  by  giving 
her  such  an  alarm.  The  explanation  was  given, 
the  letter  was  produced,  and  the  teacher  was  called 
to  account  for  his  imposture.  His  ready  apology 
was :  '  God  alone  knows  futurity !     How  could  I 


THE    CULTIVATION    OF    MEMORY.  99 

know  that  your  son  would  arrive  in  safety  ?  It 
was  better  that  you  should  think  him  dead,  than 
expect  to  see  him  and  be  disappointed.' " 

As  to  the  Jews,  it  is  not  only  a  common  thing 
for  them  to  have  the  whole  Hebrew  Bible  in  their 
memory,  but  also  large  portions  of  the  Talmud, 
which  is  a  collection  of  comments  five  or  six 
times  as  extensive.     One  of  their  own  chroniclers 
relates  a  fact  which  illustrates  this  observation. 
In  the  seventh  century  the  copies  of  the  Talmud 
became  very  scarce  in  Persia,  in  consequence  of 
one  of  those  hideous  persecutions  to  which  this 
unconquerable  race  has  been  so  often  subjected. 
A  celebrated  Rabbi,  fearing  lest  the  precious  work 
should  be  irreparably  lost,  fell  upon  the  happy 
expedient  of  consigning  it,  in  portions,   to  the 
memory  of  his  several  scholars,  giving  to  each  a 
single  treatise.    At  the  appointed  time  the  scholars 
were  assembled,  and  the  immense  work  was  re- 
hearsed without  the  error  of  a  jot  or  tittle.    Strange 
as  this  legend  may  seem,  I  think  it  right  to  say, 
that  it  is  cited  with  credence  by  an  eminent  Ger- 
man author  of  our  day,  who  adds  this  declaration: 
•'  Even  now,  I  would  wager,  that  the  same  experi- 
ment would  have  a  like  result.     The  most  ortho- 
dox Jews,  those  most  attached  to  the  Talmud, 
among  all  who  live  in  Europe,  are  to  be  found  in 
Lithuania  and  Poland.     Now  let  the  prince  who 
reigns  over  them  send  forth  an  edict  through  his 
extensive  dominions,   that  at  the  end  of  three 
months  every  Talmud  shall  be  delivered  up  and 


100  THE    WORKING-MAN. 

destroyed,  except  a  single  one  with  which  to  make 
the  trial.  Within  four  months  the  Jews  will  pro- 
duce twelve  rabbins  who  shall  repeat  the  contents 
of  the  work  word  for  word."*  Indeed,  a  Jew 
has  exhibited  himself  in  London  within  the  last 
few  months,  who  publicly  submitted  to  a  trial  in 
proof  of  his  having  every  word  of  this  immense 
mass  in  his  memory. 

It  would  be  tedious  to  recite  the  instances  of 
amazing  memory  given  in  ancient  books.  The- 
mistocles  learned  to  speak  Persian  in  a  year. 
Mithridates  knew  two -and -twenty  languages. 
Crassus  professed  to  be  familiar  with  five  dialects 
of  the  Greek  tongue.  Cyrus  remembered  the 
names  of  all  his  soldiers.t  Theodectes  could 
repeat  any  number  of  verses  which  were  read  to 
him.  Erasmus  knew  all  Terence  and  Horace  by 
heart ;  and  Beza  could  repeat  the  Psalms  in  He- 
brew, and  St.  Paul's  epistles  in  Greek.  The 
great  Pascal,  in  modern  times,  had  a  memory  from 
which  nothing  seemed  to  escape.  In  our  own 
country  Dr.  Nisbet,  once  president  of  Dickinson 
College,  is  reported  to  have  known  every  line  in 
Virgil.  But  I  am  becoming  prolix,  and  must 
therefore  take  a  fresh  pen  for  the  more  practical 
part  of  my  subject. 

•  Professor  Gfrdrer,  of  Stuttgart,  in  his  History  of  Primi- 
tive Christianity. 
:     t  Qumtilian,  Inst  Drat  lib.  xi  S. 


THE    CULTIVATION    OP   MEMORY.        101 


XVI. 

THE    CULTIVATION    OP    MEMORT. 
Continued. 

"  The  busy  power 
Of  memory  her  ideal  train  preserves 
Entire ;  or  when  they  would  elude  her  watch, 
Reclaims  their  fleeting  footsteps  from  the  waste 
Of  dark  oblivion."  Akekside. 

Aristotle  held,  as  I  am  told  by  the  school- 
master, that  all  remembrance  is  owing  to  a  physical 
impression  made  on  the  brain.  Thus  he  is  enabled 
to  account  for  the  quickness  and  shortness  of 
memory  in  children ;  because  the  brain  of  the 
little  one  is  soft,  and  therefore  easily  takes  a  mark, 
and  as  easily  loses  it.  On  the  other  hand,  the 
brain  of  old  men  is  tough  and  rigid,  so  that  it  nei- 
ther takes  nor  loses  an  impression  with  facility. 
This  theory  is  exploded,  but  it  still  serves  to  illus- 
trate the  principle  that  it  is  in  early  life  that  the 
memory  must  be  chiefly  disciplined.  This  is  a 
most  important  truth  in  education,  but  very  much 
overlooked  in  the  pretended  philosophy  of  educa- 
tion. It  is  important  as  directing  us  to  the  proper 
studies  for  our  children.  There  are  some  things 
which  we  must  teach  them  now,  because  they 
9* 


!(•)>  THE    WORKING-MAN. 

cannot  learn  them  so  well  hereafter:  there  are 
other  things  which  we  must  teach  them  hereafter, 
because  they  cannot  learn  them  any  better,  if  even 
so  well,  now.  The  things  which  children  should 
learn  now,  are  all  those  which  exercise  memory 
rather  than  reason :  such  is  whatever  concerns 
language,  and  whatever  it  is  important  to  remem- 
ber in  certain  terms.  All  rules  and  forms  which 
will  be  perpetually  coming  into  play  in  subsequent 
studies  or  in  active  life,  should  be  deeply  engraven 
upon  the  memory.  Rules  of  grammar,  religious 
catechisms,  and  the  words  of  Holy  Scripture  are 
especially  of  this  sort.  And  that  parent  is  trifling 
with  the  future  happiness  and  usefulness  of  his 
child,  who  allows  himself  to  be  decoyed  into  the 
absurd  rule  of  inculcating  nothing  upon  the  memory 
until  it  can  be  comprehended  by  the  understanding. 
But  I  must  leave  the  children,  and  return  to  the 
young  men.  What  are  they  to  do  ?  And  espe- 
cially what  are  they  to  do,  if  they  have  heretofore 
been  neglected  ?  Is  there  any  chance  of  redeem- 
ing lost  opportunities?  or  rather,  is  there  not 
occasion  for  despair  ?  One  of  my  maxims  about 
every  thing  is,  Never  despair:  another  maxim  is, 
Never  stand  still;  that  is,  never,  in  youth  or 
age,  allow  yourself  to  think  you  have  reached  the 
ne  plus  ultra.  Resolve  to  reform  every  error,  to 
cure  every  disorder,  and  to  supply  every  defect, 
as  long  as  you  live.  Instead  therefore  of  indulging 
in  pusillanimous  complaints  and  indolent  wishes 
about  the  defects  of  your  memory,  set  about  sup- 


THE    CULTIVATION    OF    MEMORIT.        103 

J>lying  them.  The  very  thing  I  am  writing  for 
is  to  induce  you  to  undertake  this  very  work. 
Your  whole  success  depends  upon  two  quite 
simple  principles : 

First.  The  memory  must  he  exercised.  The 
law  of  all  our  powers,  of  mind  and  body,  is  the 
«ame.  They  grow  in  proportion  to  their  health- 
ful exercise.  It  is  so  with  muscles.  Compare 
the  arm  of  the  tailor  with  that  of  the  blacksmith 
or  the  woodman.  Compare  the  voice  of  the 
chimney-sweep  with  that  of  the  silent  house- 
servant.  Compare  your  own  hand  with  that  of 
your  neighbour  wholSei  way  of  life  is  the  reverse 
■of  your  own.  If  your  memory  is  weak,  it  is 
■probably  from  want  of  exercise.  Not  but  that 
there  are  great  original  diversities  ;  but  still  there 
4s  not  more  than  one  in  five  hundred  whose  memory 
■might  not  be  improved  to  a  degree  sufficient  for 
•every  useful  purpose.  You  have  either  been 
entirely  neglected,  or  the  discipline  of  your 
■memory,  having  been  attended  to  in  your  child- 
hood, has  since  been  intermitted.  If  the  former, 
you  have  no  recollection  of  any  labours  in  this 
kind ;  if  the  latter,  you  find  it  much  harder  to  get 
any  thing  by  rote  tbail  once  you  did.  Which- 
ever of  these  is  the  case,  you  are  now  to  begin, 
and  practise,  by  suitable  degrees.  Though  it  is 
a  faculty  which  admits  of  being  put  upon  immense 
exertions  where  it  has  been  trained,  it  must  be 
brought  up  from  decay  by  degrees.  You  must 
commit  to  memory,  as  a  task.     The  task  must 


104  THE    WORKING-MAN. 

be  frequently  renewed,  and  the  matters  given  in 
charge  to  the  memory  must  be  increased  by  very 
slow  degrees. 

My  friend,  the  schoolmaster,  declares  to  me 
that  he  has  seen  the  most  astonishing  cures  wrought 
among  his  lads.  He  has  a  number  of  little  rules 
respecting  memory,  which  are  worth  being  re- 
corded.    Here  are  some  of  them. 

Memory  depends  on  three  things. 

1.  Attention.  Attend  and  you  will  remember. 
The  more  you  attend,  the  better  will  you  remem- 
ber. Great  fixedness  of  attention  will  burn  the 
thing  into  your  mind.  Perhaps  the  whole  of 
your  difficulty  has  this  origin.  If  so,  you  must 
go  back  one  step,  and  cultivate  the  habit  of  con- 
centrating your  thoughts. 

2.  Repetition.  Repeat  and  you  will  remember. 
Drop  after  drop  wears  away  rocks.  But  a  par- 
ticular sort  of  repetition  must  be  recommended : 
Repeat  and  examine  yourself.  This  is  the  remark 
of  Lord  Bacon,  and  almost  every  child  has  tried 
the  experiment :  "  You  will  not  so  easily  learn  a 
piece  of  writing  by  rote  by  reading  it  over  twenty 
times,  as  by  reading  it  over  ten  times  and  trying 
every  time  to  recite  it,  looking  at  the  book  when- 
ever you  fail."* 

3.  Associations  of  pleasure  or  pain.  Even  a 
dog  remembers  where  he  has  been  whipped,  and 
an  ox  where  he  has  been  watered.     It  was  the 

*  Bacon,  Nov.  Org.  lib.  iL  Aph.  28. 


THE    CULTIVATION    OF    MEMORY.        105 

custom,  in  old  times,  in  England,  to  whip  the 
boys  of  a  neighbourhood  at  each  of  the  march- 
stones,  or  division  marks  between  parishes ;  in 
order  to  fix  it  in  their  memories.  The  Choctaws 
are  said  to  inculcate  their  traditions  upon  the 
young  people,  in  a  similar  way.  I  would  not, 
indeed,  prescribe  self-flagellation,  great  as  its  vir- 
tues are  supposed  to  be  in  some  orders  of  monks, 
but  would  strenuously  recommend  it  to  you,  to 
call  up  as  vivid  associations  of  a  pleasurable  kind 
as  you  can  around  those  things  which  you  endea- 
vour to  remember. 

The  schoolmaster  declares  that  he  is  convinced 
the  ancients  were  right  in  enjoining  it  on  their 
scholars  when  they  wished  to  learn  any  thing 
with  remarkable  ease,  to  sleep  upon  it ;  that  is  to 
rehearse  it  just  before  going  to  rest,  and  just  after 
rising. 

Second.  The  memory  must  be  trusted.  This 
principle  is  not  less  important  than  the  foregoing, 
though  less  obvious.  Those  have  the  most  accu- 
rate, prompt,  and  faithful  recollection,  who  confide 
most  to  their  memory.  It  is  a  jealous  faculty, 
and  does  not  willingly  see  its  functions  assigned 
to  another.  Men  who  make  it  their  habit  to  carry 
every  thing  in  their  heads,  seldom  blunder ;  men 
who  jot  down  every  thing  are  lost  without  their 
tablets.  The  penny-post  knows  a  list  of  more 
names  and  numbers  than  you  or  I  could  commit 
to  memory  in  a  week.  A  respectable  merchant 
lately  said  to  me,  "  I  have  scarcely  any  memory, 


106  T»E    WORKINO->IAl!r> 

and  I  attribute  it  to  the  habit  of  our  business,  in 
which  we  never  trust  any  thing  to  our  recollection, 
without  an  entry  in  some  book."  Judge  Y  .-  !■■, 
of  New  York,  used  to  declare  that  without  his 
notes  of  evidence  he  could  not  aver  that  this  or 
that  witness  had  made  any  observation.  This 
agrees  with  what  is  said  by  old  Montaigne :  "  I 
can  do  nothing,"  says  he,  "  without  my  memo- 
randum-book; and  so  great  is  my  difficulty  in 
remembering  proper  names,  that  I  am  forced  to 
call  my  domestic  servants  by  their  offices."  On 
the  other  hand,  the  schoolmaster  relates  of  Hor- 
tensius,  the  great  rival  of  Cicero,  that  he  could 
attend  a  protracted  auction,  and  then  at  the  end  of 
the  sale  give  as  accurate  a  list  of  items  and  prices 
as  the  clerks  who  kept  minutes.  I  can  believe 
this  the  more  readily  from  what  I  have  myself 
known  of  an  analogous  feat  in  an  eminent  merchant 
of  a  southern  city. 

Practise  then  upon  the  maxim,  to  intrust  every 
thing  to  your  memory  which  may  be  done  so 
safely.  What  we  sometimes  hear  about  "  over- 
burdening the  memory"  is  the  mere  cant  of  a  false 
philosophy.  Memory  is  not  a  beast  of  burden. 
No  man  ever  realized  the  threatened  evil.  We 
may  make  our  memory  labour  to  weariness  at  one 
time ;  so  may  we  do  with  the  judgment.  But  in 
neither  case  is  it  the  multitude  of  particulars  which 
distresses  the  mind.  We  may  again  charge  the 
memory  with  what  is  useless  or  injurious  ;  but 
this  is   clearly  distinct  from   going  beyond  its 


THE    CULTIVATION    OF   MEMORY.        107 

capacity.  We  may  further  try  to  remember  too 
much.  But  that  any  pain  or  other  evil  is  conse- 
quent from  the  mere  amount  of  things  actually 
remembered,  I  resolutely  deny.  Trust  your 
memory  therefore.  Beware  of  an  inordinate  use 
of  common-place  books.  They  have  their  use ; 
but  you  will  often  find  that  a  great  transcriber  into 
such  volumes  leaves  all  his  stores  behind  him 
when  he  shuts  his  study-door.  And  I  have  heard 
the  schoolmaster  read  passages  out  of  Bayle,  going 
to  show  that  all  common-place  books  were  con- 
demned by  several  of  the  most  learned  men  of 
former  days ;  as  by  Saumaise  or  Salmasius,  by 
Menage,  and  by  Govean ;  the  last  of  whom  went 
so  far  that  he  would  not  admit  pen  and  ink  into 
his  library,  lest  transcription  should  interrupt  his 
thinking  and  impair  his  memory.*  It  must  be 
confessed  that  this  would  be  ruinous  to  a  poor 
writer  of  scraps,  such  as  myself. 

•  Bayle's  Diet  art.  AndUon. 


Id8  THE    WORKING-MAlf. 

XVII. 

THE    working-man's    JOUKNEYS. 

f..^, .   "Home-keeping  youth  have  ever  homely  wits." 

Two  Gentkmen  of  Verona. 

The  ease  with  which  we  go  from  one  place  td 
another  makes  us  a  travelHng  people,  perhaps  to 
as  great  an  extent  as  is  true  of  any  equal  number 
of  persons  in  the  world.  Go  when  you  will  upon 
any  of  the  great  thoroughfares,  as  between  Boston 
and  Providence,  between  Baltimore  and  Philadel- 
phia, or  especially  between  Philadelphia  and  New 
York,  and  you  find  the  steamers,  cars,  and  coaches 
filled  with  wanderers.  I  never  cease  to  wonder 
as  to  what  may  be  the  impelling  motive  with  so 
great  a  number,  for  so  long  a  period.  I  have 
nevertheless  been  led  to  the  opinion  that  our 
artisans  do  not  travel  a  great  deal,  or  even  as  much 
as  several  other  classes  which  might  be  named. 
It  IS  true  they,  like  their  neighbours,  must  some- 
times change  their  place.  When  work  is  dull  in 
one  town  they  go  to  another,  and  there  are  thus 
two  streams  of  workmen  perpetually  setting  be- 
tween our  two  great  cities ;  while,  in  a  smaller 
degree,  a  similar  circulation  of  labour  is  kept  up 
through  the  whole  country.     There  is  also  a  cur- 


THE    WOHKING-MAN's    JOURNEYS.       109 

*ferit  of  emigrants  to  the  west,  and  in  this  there 
is  always  a  considerable  infusion  of  mechanical 
labour.  But  still,  whatever  may  be  done  from 
necessity,  mechanics  as  a  class  do  not  jaunt  about 
much  for  pleasure,  or  for  the  purpose  of  gaining 
those  particular  advantages  which  have  been  sup- 
posed to  result  from  travelling.  Yet  the  mechanic 
often  needs  recreation  and  change  of  air;  and 
where  his  business  admits  of  it,  it  would  be  well 
if  he  could  more  frequently  roam  a  little  over  the 
face  of  our  wide  land.  In  some  countries,  it  is 
thought  so  important  for  young  mechanics  to 
travel  for  improvement  in  their  craft,  that  it  is 
Enjoined  by  law.  This  is  particularly  the  case 
in  the  German  states,  and  deserves  consideration 
from  our  enterprising  mechanics.  A  German 
artisan  is  not  thought  to  have  completed  his  edu- 
cation until  he  has  spent  some  months  or  years  in 
working  abroad.  The  custom  is  very  ancient, 
and  arose  in  a  time  when  the  modes  of  commu- 
nicating knowledge  which  we  now  have  were 
altogether  unknown.  There  were,  in  that  day, 
no  Builder's  or  Millwright's  Guides,  no  Manuals 
for  Weavers,  Watchmakers,  or  Dyers,  no  Tailor's 
Magazines.  Men  of  trades  as  well  as  men  of 
letters  were  forced  to  go  from  place  to  place,  in 
order  to  pick  up  the  nicer  operations  of  their  craft. 
The  stream  of  travel  naturally  tended  from  the 
ruder  to  the  more  civilized  nations.  In  the  mid- 
dle ages,  when  Germany  was  rough  and  Italy 
refined,  the  young  men  who  followed  in  the  train 
10 


110  THE    WORKING-MAN. 

of  German  princes  and  nobles  on  their  expeditions 
to  the  south,  brought  back  new  trades  and  new 
methods  from  Tuscany  or  Venice,  From  being 
an  accidental  thing  it  grew  to  be  imperative,  and 
the  Guilds  or  Trades''  Unions  of  that  day  made 
it  a  condition  of  entrance  into  their  bodies,  that 
the  applicant  should  have  spent  a  certain  number 
of  years  away  from  the  place  of  his  apprentice- 
ship. They  regarded  this  as  indispensably  ne- 
cessary to  the  dignity  and  improvement  of  their 
calling. 

This  was  very  important  when  every  art  was  a 
mystery,  and  when  the  sleight  of  a  clever  work- 
man was  as  sacred  as  the  nostrum  of  a  quack.  It 
was  often  but  little  of  a  trade  that  the  master- 
workman  could  give  his  boys ;  and  even  where 
he  was  skilled,  he  too  frequently  kept  his  own 
secret,  or  set  on  it  an  exorbitant  price.  To  acquire 
the  higher  polish  of  the  art,  a  young  man  must  go 
through  other  countries,  and  pick  up  as  much  as 
possible  of  their  improvements.  In  this  wander- 
jahre,  or  year  of  wandering,  the  journeyman 
found  many  things  to  learn.  He  saw  some  or 
all  the  materials  of  his  daily  operations,  in  their 
place  of  origin,  or  in  great  factories ;  he  consulted 
with  celebrated  artisans,  or  worked  in  favoured 
establishments,  and  beheld  the  highest  achieve- 
ments of  his  art.  The  manifest  tendency  of  the 
system  was  to  equalize  information,  to  throw 
happy  inventions  into  the  common  stock ;  to 
awaken  emulation  and  quicken  genius  ;  to  enlarge 


THE  worjking-man's  jouhneys.     Ill 

the  views  and  add  to  the  stock  of  processes.  Be- 
sides the  acknowledged  advantages  of  all  travelling, 
in  an  age  when  there  was  not  much  to  prevent 
stagnation  of  trade,  it  contributed  to  lessen  the 
number  of  hands  where  there  were  too  many, 
and  to  furnish  labour  abroad  when  it  became 
scarce. 

The  system  continues  to  be  thought  useful, 
although  it  is  known  to  labour  under  some  great 
disadvantages.  It  tends  in  many  instances  to 
produce  roving  habits,  and  affords  great  facilities 
for  idleness  and  dissipation.  I  am  therefore  very 
far  from  recommending  any  such  regular  plan  for 
our  own  country.  But  to  a  certain  extent  our 
mechanics  might  take  the  hint,  and  avail  them- 
selves of  some  of  the  advantages  of  travelling.  I 
have  known  one  carpenter  who  made  a  voyage  to 
Europe  for  the  express  purpose  of  gaining  new 
ideas  in  his  business ;  and  I  see  no  reason  why 
it  should  not  be  more  common  with  the  better 
class  of  workmen.  Particularly  in  all  that  relates 
to  architecture  or  other  decorative  arts,  it  would 
seem  to  be  highly  desirable  that  the  adept  should 
have  fully  before  his  mind's  eye  the  greatest 
works  in  his  own  department.  Sir  John  Soane, 
the  son  of  a  bricklayer,  was  an  architect  of  great 
eminence,  and  derived  much  of  his  taste  and  skill 
from  a  visit  of  some  years  to  Rome.  But  without 
crossing  the  seas,  our  enterprising  artisans  might 
contrive  to  know  a  little  more  about  one  another. 


112  THE    WORKING-MAN. 

and  to  make  short  trips  for  health  at  the  same  time 
subservient  to  the  progress  of  their  arts.  It  has 
been  very  common  for  agriculturists  to  pursue  this 
plan,  as  in  the  case  of  the  noted  Arthur  Young : 
Avhy  should  it  not  yield  its  fruits  to  the  mechanic 
arts  ?  If  the  young  traveller  were  to  keep  a  few 
memoranda  of  his  more  valuable  observations,  it 
would  be  a  useful  exercise  for  his  mind,  and  would 
be  useful  in  subsequent  years.  And  if  no  objec- 
tion can  be  raised  against  this  but  an  indisposition 
to  expend  a  few  dollars,  I  can  only  say  that  this 
frugality  would  be  much  more  wisely  applied  to 
other  and  less  profitable  indulgences.  Before 
leaving  this  subject,  I  ought  to  remind  my  young 
readers,  that  in  their  journeys  for  pleasure  or 
business,  they  may  gain  a  large  increase  of  know- 
ledge from  all  the  strangers  into  whose  company 
they  are  thrown.  Experience  soon  teaches  the 
traveller,  that  there  is  no  one  from  whom  either 
amusement  or  information  may  not  be  extracted. 
"  For  ourselves,"  says  Sir  Walter  Scott,  "  we 
can  assure  the  reader — and  perhaps  if  we  have 
ever  been  able  to  afford  him  amusement,  it  is 
owing  in  a  great  degree  to  this  cause — that  we 
never  found  ourselves  in  company  with  the 
stupidest  of  all  possible  companions  in  a  post- 
chaise,  or  with  the  most  arrant  cumber-corner 
that  ever  occupied  a  place  in  the  mail-coach,  with- 
out finding  that,  in  the  course  of  our  conversation 
with  him,  we  had  some  ideas  suggested  to  us, 


THE    working-man's    JOURNEYS.        113 

either  grave  or  gay,  or  some  information  commu- 
nicated in  the  course  of  our  journey,  which  we 
should  have  regretted  not  to  have  learned,  and 
which  we  should  be  sorry  to  have  immediately 
forgotten." 


114  THE    WORKING-MAN. 


XVIII. 

APPRENTICES. 

"  Ye  masters,  then, 
Be  mindful  of  the  rough,  laborious  hand 
That  sinks  you  soft  in  elegance  and  ease ; 
Be  mindful  of  those  limbs  in  russet  clad 
Whose  toil  to  yours  is  warmth  and  graceful  pride." 

Thomson. 

Ii  every  thing  is  ever  effectually  done  in  this 
coumry,  towaiJs  elevating  the  industrious  classes 
to  their  due  place  in  society,  the  work  must  begin 
with  those  who  are  in  youth.  In  regard  to  mind, 
manners,  or  morals,  we  cannot  expect  very  great 
improvement  in  those  who  have  passed  middle 
life :  our  endearours  should  be  directed  to  the 
apprentice. 

The  relation  of  master  and  apprentice  was  a 
closer  and  a  warmer  one  in  former  days.  The 
lad  was  willing  to  allow  that  he  had  a  master,  for 
a  certain  time  and  a  certain  purpose,  and  in  ex- 
pectation of  being  one  day  a  master  himself.  He 
thought  this  was  no  more  disgraceful,  than  the 
subordination  of  the  scholar  to  his  teacher,  or  the 
soldier  to  his  captain.  And,  in  return,  the  em- 
ployer felt  a  responsibility  proportioned  to  his 
authority.     Good  men  were  accustomed  to  treat 


APPRiSNTICES.  115 

their  apprentices  as  their  sons ;  they  gave  them 
many  little  instructions  out  of  the  line  of  the  trade, 
and  had  an  eye  to  their  religious  duti^.  It  is 
unnecessary  to  say,  that  the  state  of  things  is  very 
much  altered.  Insubordination,  radicalism,  and 
a  false  and  impracticable  theory  of  equal  rights, 
have  destroyed  the  gentle  authority  which  used 
to  exist.  The  whole  affair  of  indentures,  as  my 
readers  very  well  know,  is  in  some  places  be- 
coming a  mere  formality.  It  is  less  common  than 
it  used  to  be  for  boys  to  serve  out  their  whole 
time.  Many  influences  are  at  work  to  make  lads 
impatient,  and  loth  to  continue  in  one  place,  how- 
ever good.  And  vehen  they  abscond  from  their 
proper  service,  it  is  not  every  employer  who  now 
thinks  it  worth  his  while  to  take  the  legal  mea- 
sures for  recovering  their  time.  It  is  known  to 
those  who  are  conversant  with  mechanical  esta- 
blishments in  our  cities,  that  the  old-fashioned 
system  is  found  to  be  ineffectual ;  so  that  master- 
workmen  have  to  try  new  methods  of  getting  the 
requisite  amount  of  work  from  their  hands.  In 
some  cases,  this  is  effected  by  small  remunerations 
for  task-work.  There  are  many  shops  in  which 
there  are  no  regular  apprentices ;  the  employers 
choosing  rather  to  hire  such  labour  as  they  can 
get.  I  have  even  heard  the  opinion  expressed 
that  the  day  is  not  far  off  when  the  whole  system 
of  apprenticeship  will  be  thrown  aside. 

The  spirit  of  our  age  and  country  is  a  spirit  of 
restless  hurry.     We  are  for  quick  turns,  short 


116  THE    WORKIXG-MAN. 

cuts,  and  sudden  results.  Amidst  the  increased 
risks  of  human  life,  seven  years  is  a  great  portion 
of  the  h»«nan  span.  Another  trait  of  our  national 
character  is  a  dislike  to  all  rule,  just  or  unjust. 
It  is  natural  for  a  boy  to  prefer  variety  to  sameness 
of  occupation ;  and  when  regular  service  is  no 
longer  compulsory,  we  must  expect  to  see  our 
youth  flying  from  the  severe  work  of  shops  to 
those  chance  jobs  which  give  bread  to  so  many 
thousands  in  our  streets. 

The  efiects  of  this  condition  of  things  are  mani- 
festly bad.  We  are  falling  between  two  systems. 
We  are  slipping  away  from  the  old  plan  of  former 
ages,  and  have  not  yet  alighted  upon  a  better — 
one  more  suited  to  modern  improvements.  If 
boys  and  youth  may  serve  one  year  or  six  years 
at  their  own  option,  if  they  may  run  from  one 
employer  to  another,  upon  every  whim;  if  they 
may  even  exchange  their  trade  two  or  three  times 
before  they  come  of  age, — is  it  not  as  plain  as 
day,  that  the  proportion  of  really  accomplished 
workmen  must  lessen  from  year  to  year  ?  And 
this  being  the  case,  several  evils  must  necessarily 
ensue,  which  are  too  obvious  to  need  recital. 

But  the  nature  of  things  does  not  alter :  skilled 
labour,  like  other  commodities,  will  find  a  market, 
and  will  bring  the  highest  price.  This  is  begin- 
ning to  show  itself  in  certain  kinds  of  manufacture, 
in  which  foreign  artisans  are  coming  in,  to  the 
exclusion  of  our  own  countrymen.  It  is  as  vain 
as  it  is  unrighteous,  for  us  to  fold  our  arms  and 


APPRENTICES.      '''  117 

raise  an  outcry  against  foreign  labour,  and  form 
associations  of  native  Americans.  If  we  do  not 
secure  the  thorough  trade-education  of  our  own 
youth,  we  must  expect  to  see  all  the  finer  and 
more  difficult  branches  taken  out  of  our  hands. 
As  a  general  thing,  I  am  glad  to  know  that  this  is 
far  from  being  the  case :  I  speak  only  of  tendencies, 
and  I  do  not  think  it  can  be  denied  that  the  ten- 
dency of  the  change  I  have  mentioned  is  to  evil. 

But  there  are  moral  consequences  of  this  relaxa- 
tion of  the  old  system,  which  are  still  more  to  be 
deplored.  As  the  tie  between  the  employer  and 
the  apprentice  becomes  slight,  there  is  a  lessening 
of  authority  on  the  one  side  and  of  duty  on  the 
other,  as  well  as  of  affection  on  both.  We  often 
talk  of  the  advantages  of  domestic  influence,  the 
bonds  of  the  fireside,  the  charm  of  home  :  and  on 
this  point  it  would  be  hard  for  us  to  speak  too 
much,  or  too  enthusiastically.  But  where  is  the 
apprentice's  home?  It  is  not  in  his  father's 
house  :  in  the  greater  number  of  cases,  this  is  not 
within  reach.  It  is  not  his  employer's  house  ;  at 
least  under  the  prevailing  system,  and  in  our  cities 
and  large  towns.  For  this  there  are  various 
reasons.  In  great  manufactories,  where  there  are 
at  least  a  dozen  boys — these  of  course  cannot  be 
allowed  to  overrun  the  employer's  house :  they 
are  often  put  out  to  board  elsewhere.  In  neither 
case  have  they  a  home. — Even  where  there  is 
only  an  ordinary  number,  as  the  master  is  no  longer 
a  parent,  the  apprentice  feels  no  longer  like  a  son 


118  THE    WORKING-MAN. 

Where  can  he  spend  his  evenings  ?  Not  in  the 
garret  or  loft  where  he  sleeps :  in  winter  it  is  cold ; 
in  summer  it  is  suffocating. — Not  in  the  kitchen : 
he  would  be  in  the  way.  Not  in  the  sitting-room : 
that  would  be  too  familiar. — Where  can  he  spend 
the  long  hours  of  his  Sunday  ?  Let  us  look  the 
truth  in  the  face :  The  apprentice  has  no  home. 
Is  it  any  wonder  that  at  night  we  hear  the  heavy 
tramp  of  their  feet  upon  our  pavements  as  they 
career  along  by  scores  ?  Is  it  any  wonder  that 
they  crowd  our  oyster-houses,  porter-cellars,  bar- 
rooms, shows,  and  wait  for  checks  about  the  doors 
of  our  theatres  ? 

The  moral  consequences  of  this  I  need  not 
dwell  upon  :  they  are  open  to  the  day.  I  am  not 
so  chimerical  as  to  propose  a  return  to  old  ways, 
or  to  hang  on  the  wheels  of  modern  improvement. 
I  only  urge,  that  the  old  system  of  master  and 
apprentice,  when  carried  out  in  practice,  had  cer- 
tain advantages,  which  are  not  provided  for  in  our 
present  methods.  If  we  do  not  wish  our  young 
mechanics  to  become  an  easy  prey  to  vice,  we 
must  set  about  some  preventive  measures.  The 
apprentice  must  have  some  agreeable  place  in 
which  to  spend  his  leisure  moments.  I  am  accus- 
tomed to  see  some  of  the  best  youth  I  know, 
passing  their  Sundays  in  the  street  or  the  fields. 
Vice  opens  many  doors  to  the  less  scrupulous : 
surely  virtue  ought  to  do  as  much.  For  a  number 
of  years,  it  has  been  my  deliberate  and  unchanged 
opinion,  that  no  man  could  bestow  a  greater  benefit 


.  -'    APPRENTICES.  119 

on  our  working-classes,  than  he  who  should  devise 
and  offer  to  apprentices  a  pleasing,  popular,  and 
ever-open  resort  for  their  leisure  hours,  where  they 
might  not  only  feel  at  home,  but  be  out  of  the  reach 
of  temptation,  and  in  the  way  of  mental  improve- 
ment. It  is  worthy  of  consideration  in  our  Lyceums 
and  Mechanics'  Institutes.  And  if  this  volume 
should  fall  into  the  hands  of  any  friends  of  the 
young  mechanic,  in  such  towns  or  villages  as  are 
without  Lyceums  or  Mechanics'  Institutions,  I 
would  urge  on  them  a  new  and  strenuous  effort  to 
procure  the  establishment  of  such  truly  useful 
associations.  The  attempt  will  cost  some  pains  ; 
it  will  be  opposed  by  some,  and  sneered  at  by 
others,  and  some  will  stand  aloof  and  recount  the 
history  of  similar  enterprises,  and  their  failure. 
But,  nevertheless,  the  thing  has  been  done,  and 
can  be  done  again ;  and  there  is  no  good  reason 
why  every  town  in  America  should  not  be  adorned 
by  a  graceful  edifice  devoted  to  the  mental  im- 
provement of  the  young  artisan. 


120  THE    WORKING-MAN. 


XIX. 

trades'  unions. 

"Heaven  forming  each  on  other  to  depend, 
A  master,  or  a  servant,  or  a  friend. 
Bids  each  on  other  for  assistance  call, 
Till  one  man's  weakness  grows  the  strength  of  all." 

Pope. 

Upon  the  question,  What  shall  be  the  wages 
of  labour?  the  world  of  enterprise  is  naturally 
divided  into  two  parties.  For  it  is  obvious,  that 
the  employer  will  desire  to  give  as  little  as  he  can, 
and  the  workman  to  receive  as  much  as  he  can. 
And  in  the  great  majority  of  instances,  the  advan- 
tage in  this  contest  has  been  on  the  side  of  the 
master-workmen,  as  being  able  to  combine  more 
easily,  and  to  subsist  longer  without  new  receipts. 
This  state  of  things,  however,  has  received  a  very 
important  disturbance  from  the  expansion  of  the 
credit  system ;  which,  so  far  as  this  controversy 
is  concerned,  has  brought  the  two  parties  more 
nearly  upon  a  level. 

In  order  to  place  themselves  upon  terras  of  some 
equality  in  the  contest,  it  was  necessary  that  ope- 
ratives should  in  some  way  or  other  combine  for 
mutual  support ;  and  in  the  case  of  those  who  are 


trades'  unions.  121 

called  "skilled  workmen,"  the  effect  of  such  com- 
binations has  often  been  sudden  and  extensive. 

In  attempting  to  raise  and  keep  up  wages  above 
their  natural  rate,  various  methods  have  been  used. 
The  most  obvious  is  that  of  refusing  to  work  for 
less  than  a  certain  sum  agreed  upon ;  and  where 
the  combination  is  universal  or  very  extensive,  this 
is  likely  to  have  its  effect  in  the  case  of  skilled 
labour.  Another  method  not  much  unlike  this  in 
its  principle,  is  that  of  combining  to  lessen  the 
hours  of  labour,  the  price  remaining  the  same. 
A  third  is  that  of  limiting  the  number  of  skilled 
workmen  in  any  district;  and  this  method  has 
from  time  to  time  been  imbodied  in  the  municipal 
customs  and  statutory  provisions  of  many  couo' 
tries.  To  this  source  we  owe  all  the  guilds  or 
trade-corporations  of  England,  the  statutes  of 
appranticeship,  the  tours  of  journeymen  (wander- 
jahre)  in  Germany,  and  similar  expedients ;  the 
object  being  in  every  case  the  same,  namely,  to 
make  labour  more  costly,  by  making  it  more  diffi- 
cult to  be  procured.  Upon  the  same  principle, 
in  some  of  the  Spice  Islands,  it  has  been  customary 
to  destroy  part  of  the  pepper  crop  in  order  to  raise 
the  price  of  the  commodity. 

The  corporations  of  the  middle  ages  were  the 
basis  of  all  our  municipal  privileges,  as  indeed 
they  were  the  cradle  of  modern  civic  prosperity 
in  general :  they  were,  in  those  rude  periods,  a 
necessary  safeguard  for  the  peaceful  burgher 
against  the  ruthless  and  iron-handed  barons  and 
11 


122  THE    WORKING-MAN. 

their  feudatories.  But  the  state  of  things  has 
greatly  changed  with  the  advancement  of  society. 
As  the  defences  of  established  law  have  formed 
themselves  around  the  mechanic  and  the  labourer, 
those  irregular  and  extraordinary  provisions  should 
have  been  abandoned ;  as  being  no  less  antiquated 
and  no  less  dangerous  than  the  famous  Secret 
Tribunals  of  the  dark  ages ;  which  nevertheless 
were  almost  demanded  in  a  state  of  things  where 
society  was  in  a  perpetual  conflict : 

,  "  For  why  1    Because  the  good  old  rule 

Sufficed  them ;  the  simple  plan, 
That  they  should  take  who  have  the  power, 
And  they  should  keep  who  can."* 

But  we  have  lived  to  see  a  new  growth  spring- 
ing up  in  the  rank  soil  of  modern  civilization^  In 
the  unexampled  increase  and  mighty  influence  of 
Trades'  Unions  there  is  every  thing  to  awaken 
the  interest  of  the  political  and  the  moral  philoso- 
pher. Viewing  what  has  occurred  within  a  few 
years,  we  can  only  say,  with  Talleyrand,  It  is 
the  beginning  of  the  end!  No  man  can  examine 
the  influence  of  this  organization  of  the  working- 
classes,  without  perceiving  that,  unless  arrested,  it 
must  give  origin  to  a  state  of  society  totally  dif- 
ferent from  any  that  the  world  has  ever  seen ; 
whether  better  or  worse  than  that  which  has  pre- 
ceded, events  will  prove. 

•  Wordsworth. 


trades'  unions.  123 

The  early  dissensions  of  republican  Rome  gave 
occasion  to  Menenius  Agrippa  to  rehearse  the 
fable  of  the  Belly  and  the  Members  ;  an  apologue 
which  is  no  less  instructive  and  appropriate  now, 
than  it  was  then.  Nothing  can  fail  to  be  dis- 
organizing and  ruinous,  which  tends  to  set  the 
rich  against  the  poor,  or  marshals  these  two 
classes  into  conflicting  hosts.  And  such  is  the 
tendency  of  that  fearful  system  which  is  beginning 
to  spread  itself  among  our  happy  yeomanry. 


124  THE    WORKING-MAN. 


XX. 

trades'  unions. 

Continued. 

"  We  see,  we  hear  with  peril :  8afety  dwells 
Remote  from  multitude.     The  world's  a  school 
Of  wrong,  and  what  proficients  swarm  around ! 
We  must  or  imitate  or  disapprove ; 
Must  list  as  their  accomplices  or  foes." 

Youse. 

The  true  way  to  judge  of  Trades'  Unions  is  to 
see  them  at  home;  to  examine  their  working  in 
the  place  of  their  origin,  and  where  their  influence 
is  most  extensive.  In  this  country  they  are  still 
in  their  infancy,  and  we  can  scarcely  see  their 
ultimate  tendencies ;  but  in  Great  Britain  and 
Ireland  they  have  existed  for  a  long  period,  and 
we  may  sit  in  fair  judgment  upon  their  results. 
Every  year  brings  us  nearer  and  nearer  to  the 
transatlantic  pattern :  we  borrow  their  organiza- 
tion, their  methods,  their  '•  slang-terms,"  and  their 
men.  Here,  as  there,  we  have  our  weekly  con- 
tributions, our  forms  of  initiation,  our  committees 
of  vigilance,  our  flags  and  mottoes  and  processions. 
Perhaps  in  due  course  of  time  we  may  have  our 
burnings,  maimings,  and  assassinations.     But  be- 


trades'  unions.  125 

fore  we  allow  things  to  get  to  this  pass,  it  becomes 
us  to  sit  down  and  count  the  cost.  Let  us  look 
into  some  of  the  reasons  jjro  and  contra. 

If  a  contest  were  necessary  between  the  rich 
and  the  poor,  (which  we  heartily  believe  it  is  not, 
but  on  the  contrary  that,  in  the  long  run,  their 
interests  are  identical,)  if  it  were  necessary  that 
capital  and  labour  should  be  placed  in  conflict — 
we  should  be  ready  to  concede  that  every  facility 
and  aid  should  be  allowed  to  the  working-man, 
because  he  is  under  all  sorts  of  disadvantage. 
This  is  less  true  in  America,  where,  for  the  most 
part,  labour  and  capital  go  together;  but  in  Great 
Britain  mechanics  and  other  labourers  need  every 
species  of  lawful  union  to  bear  them  up  against 
the  weight  of  capital  and  easy  concert  which  is 
marshalled  on  the  other  side.  No  man  who  has 
a  heart  can  become  acquainted  with  the  distresses 
which  exist  in  the  thronged  manufactories  of  Bri- 
tain, without  being  tempted  to  pray  that  this  un- 
natural system  may  never  become  paramount  in 
our  own  beloved  country,  where  millions  of  untilled 
acres  still  invite  the  pallid  and  starving  artisan. 
No  wonder  the  working-classes  desire  to  increase 
the  rewards  of  labour ;  no  wonder  they  take  pity 
on  their  own  flesh  and  blood,  and  combine  to 
relieve  them.  And  if  wages,  by  any  such  expe- 
dient, could  be  made  to  rise  and  stand  at  an  ele- 
vated point,  we  should  say  that  the  benefit  had 
almost  indemnified  society  for  the  dreadful  losses 
sustained  in  the  process.  If,  as  has  been  held  by 
11* 


126  THE    WORKING-MAN. 

distinguished  economical  philosophers,  the  average 
rate  of  wages  is  an  exponent  of  national  prosperity, 
the  Trades'  Unions  which  should  effect  this  would 
be  public  benefactors.  And  it  was  in  the  expecta- 
tion that  the  labourer  by  coping  with  his  employers 
would  in  some  degree  effect  this,  that  the  British 
Parliament  removed  the  restrictions  from  trade 
combinations.  But  to  the  astonishment  of  many, 
and  the  sorrow  of  all  who  know  the  facts,  the 
chief  effect  of  this  repeal  has  been  to  increase  the 
misery  of  the  very  class  which  it  sought  to  benefit, 
by  subjecting  labouring-men  to  a  despotism  almost 
incredible  in  its  power,  and  fruitless  as  to  its  grand 
intention. 

How  far  does  combination  tend  to  produce  a 
permanent  elevation  of  wages?  This  is  a  proper 
question  for  seasons  of  tranquillity,  such  as  the 
present.  In  the  midst  of  a  panic  or  a  strike  it 
would  be  vain  to  agitate  it,  because  the  present  or 
proximate  advantage — the  rise  of  wages,  however 
temporary — would  dazzle  the  excited  workman, 
and  blind  him  to  future  evils.  But  in  this  time 
of  contentment  we  ought  to  establish  principles, 
which  may  stand  us  in  stead  when  the  struggle 
comes.  Let  us  take  a  case  in  which  the  imme- 
diate effect  of  combination  is  that  which  was 
desired ;  and  this  is  very  common,  where  the 
strike  has  been  well-timed,  at  seasons  when  great 
bills  are  running  against  employers,  and  where 
credit  is  low,  and  especially  if  the  establishment 
is  in  some   degree   separate   and   single-handed. 


trades'  unions.  127 

Here  the  triumph  of  the  working-man  seems  to 
common  observers  to  be  complete.  But  let  us 
look  a  little  deeper. 

Take  the  case  of  journeymen  tailors.  Suppose 
this  class  of  operatives,  in  Newark,  to  strike  for 
higher  wages,  and  to  succeed.  Journeymen  tailors 
will  be  at  once  tempted  to  flow  in  from  New  York ; 
and  this  influx  will  be  in  proportion,  first,  to  the 
general  distress,  and,  secondly,  to  the  amount  of 
increasing  remuneration.  Of  course  it  will  be 
less  than  it  would  be  in  the  case  of  unskilled 
labour,  such  as  that  of  the  piecers  and  pickers  in 
cotton  factories ;  where  the  vacuum  would  be 
filled  up  almost  immediately.  The  consequence 
of  this  transfer  of  labour  is,  that  wages  rise  else- 
where, and  by  degrees  fall  here :  after  a  short  time 
the  proportion  is  much  what  it  had  been,  and  the 
general  rise  of  level  is  scarcely  appreciable. 

But  put  the  case  that  all  the  journeymen  tailors, 
throughout  all  the  country,  combine  to  raise  the 
rate  of  wages.  Here  the  transfer  of  labour  is 
more  slow,  but  not  less  certain.  It  is  now  a 
transfer,  not  from  city  to  city,  but  from  trade  to 
trade.  The  man  who  is  apprenticing  his  boy, 
chooses  that  trade  whose  wages  are  the  highest : 
if  the  state  of  things  continue,  the  current  will 
change  its  bed,  and  find  channels  in  new  sorts  of 
business.  The  case  is  extreme ;  one  so  favour- 
able never  occurs ;  as  the  struggle  is  commonly 
terminated  long  before  any  such  result  can  be 
matured. 


l2d  THE    WORKING-MAN. 

But  imagine  the  case,  that  all  the  Unions,  of  all 
the  trades  thus  combined  in  all  the  country,  agree 
to  force  up  the  wages  of  labour.  Unless  they  can 
simultaneously  augment  the  productive  power  of 
the  country,  there  is  of  necessity  a  fall  in  profits, 
or,  in  other  words,  a  decrease  in  the  accumulation 
of  capital.  Let  us  hear  Dr.  Vethake  upon  this 
point.  "  Every  retardation  of  the  rate  in  which 
capital  accumulates  will  be  accompanied  by  the 
two  effects  of  a  less  rapid  increase  of  population, 
and  of  a  diminished  rate  of  Avages.  Moreover, 
but  for  the  enjoyment/or  a  time  by  the  labouring 
classes  of  a  higher  rate  of  wages,  which  will  render 
them  less  disposed  to  content  themselves  with  the 
wages  they  were  before  accustomed  to,  the  dimi- 
nution of  wages  will  proceed  until  they  are  reduced 
once  more  to  their  former  rate.  The  tendency  of 
them,  however,  to  be  for  this  reason  at  a  some- 
what higher  rate  than  formerly,  would  in  all  pro- 
bability be  more  than  counteracted  by  the  sum 
total  of  production,  when  compared  with  the 
augmented  population,  having,  from  the  necessity 
of  applying  capital  and  labour  to  the  land  under 
more  disadvantageous  circumstances  than  before, 
become  diminished  ;  a  condition  of  things,  it  will 
be  recollected,  implying  a  rise  of  rents,  and  a  fall 
of  profits  and  wages."  The  same  learned  man 
guards  us  against  the  selfish  rejoinder  that  this 
effect  may  not  take  place  until  years  shall  have 
passed  away ;  by  showing  that  from  the  very 
moment  a  rise  of  wages  takes  place,  the  rate  of 


trades'  unions.  129 

profits  will  be  reduced,  capital  accumulate  slowly, 
and  wages  will  fall.  Besides  this,  the  real  wages 
of  the  working-man  will  not  increase  by  any  means 
as  his  pecuniary  wages.  He  will  find  it  harder 
to  get  work,  and  the  commodities  he  needs  will 
be  higher  in  price. 

The  voice  of  political  philosophy  is  therefore 
unequivocal.  '^'^  Even  setting  aside  wholly  (says 
Dr.  Vethake)  the  permanently  injurious  effects 
to  result,  I  think  that  an  unprejudiced  person 
can  scarcely  avoid  concluding  against  every  system 
of  the  kind :  not  only  in  respect  to  the  interests 
of  the  community  regarded  as  a  whole,  but  also 
in  respect  to  those  of  the  very  parties  to  benefit 
whom  is  the  object  proposed." 


J^f6^  THE    WORKING-MAN. 


XXI. 

THE    working-man's    LIBERTIES. 

"  Mortals,  that  would  follow  me, 
Love  Virtue,  she  alone  is  free." 

MiLToir. 

It  would  be  much  too  trite  to  be  welcome,  if  I 
were  to  say,  that  the  tendency  of  things,  in  our 
free  country,  is  towards  licentiousness.  But  I 
shall  account  myself  happy,  if  tumults,  and  revolts 
against  equitable  rule,  do  not  drive  some  among 
us  to  ask  for  a  strong  government,  as  a  resource 
against  perpetual  alarms.  There  is  danger  of  this ; 
and  the  way  to  counteract  a  disposition  so  unlike 
that  in  which  we  were  all  bred,  and  so  inconsistent 
with  the  principles  of  our  government,  is  certainly 
not  unworthy  of  being  searched  for.  In  a  knot 
of  village  politicians,  whom  I  sometimes  encounter 
of  an  evening,  I  listen  with  both  ears  to  whatever 
may  be  said ;  and  though  I  am  without  a  tongue 
in  such  matters,  I  cannot  help  having  an  opinion. 
One  thing  is  constantly  showing  itself,  and  I  ask 
attention  to  my  surmises.  The  red-hot  Jacobins 
of  our  time  are  playing  into  the  hands  of  the 
absolutists  of  Europe.  While  they  try  to  set  the 
poor  against  the  rich — forgetting  that  he  who  is 


THE    working-man's    LIBERTIES.       131 

poor  to-day  may  be  rich  to-morrow ;  while  they 
dupe  the  unthinking  with  the  old  Agrarian  song 
which  befooled  tlie  Romans  under  the  Gracchi, 
and  the  English  mob  under  Jack  Cade,  and  will 
never  fail,  till  the  world  be  wiser,  to  lift  the  dema- 
gogue another  round  of  the  ladder,  and  crush  the 
poor  fellows  of  whom  he  has  made  his  stepping- 
stone  ;  while  they  teach  that  all  rule  is  tyranny, 
and  all  subordination  degrading,  they  are  preparing 
the  happiest  consummation  for  the  enemies  of 
republican  government.  No  union  of  foreign 
legitimists  could  break  our  bulwarks.  All  the 
power  of  Europe  would  only,  like  pressure  on  an 
arch,  compact  us  more  closely.  Open  assault, 
though  gigantic  and  reiterated,  would  put  us  on 
our  strong  national  points  of  resistance  ;  nor  do  I 
believe  there  is  the  power  on  earth  which  could 
force  a  king  upon  America.  The  blood  of  the 
old  free  colonists  runs  proudly  yet.  All  fourth 
jf  July  harangues  to  the  contrary  notwithstanding 
— we  never  were  slaves ;  we  never  can  be — unless 
we  sell  ourselves. 

I  am  alarmed  to  hear  quiet  men  expressing 
themselves  in  new  phrases ;  as  if  our  great  ex- 
periment had  almost  failed.  They  have  no  reason 
to  say  so,  except  the  rampant  licentiousness  and 
turbulent  ferocity  of  certain  agitators.  But  these 
occasional  outbreaks  tend  to  loosen  our  anchorage, 
to  strain  our  holdfasts,  and  even  when  we  wish 
to  weigh  and  be  off,  the  cables  may  part  just  when 
tlie  anchors  come  a-peak.    Principles  are  wearing 


132  THE    WORKING-MAN. 

away  silently  but  fast,  in  some  very  useful  minds, 
which  might  be  of  great  service  to  us  at  a  pinch ; 
and  this  change  is  owing  entirely  to  the  revulsion 
caused  by  licentious  temerity. 

I  am  not  one  of  those  who  dread  so  much  from 
the  direct  influence  of  mobs  and  riots.  There  is, 
in  the  worst  of  them  more  show  of  teeth  than 
bloodshed,  more  powder  than  ball ;  thanks  to 
Providence  that  it  is  so.  More  lives  are  lost  in 
a  dozen  street-fights,  or  one  steam-explosion,  than 
in  the  riots  of  ten  years.  We  are  a  strong  people, 
and  can  resist  a  number  of  partial  shocks,  just  as 
we  resisted  Shays'  insurrection,  and  the  Whisky 
Boys.  Our  Anglo-Saxon  reserve  holds  off  the 
supreme,  ultimate  force  of  repression  as  long  as 
possible  ;  but  it  comes  out  at  last,  like  Neptune, 
to  still  the  waves.  "  A  disorderly  multitude," 
says  Addison,  in  one  of  his  works,  which  we  have 
learned  from  British  tories  to  neglect,*  "  a  dis- 
orderly multitude  contending  with  the  body  of  the 
legislature,  is  like  a  man  in  a  fit  under  the  conduct 
of  one  in  the  fulness  of  his  health  and  strength. 
Such  a  one  is  sure  to  be  overruled  in  a  little  time, 
though  he  deals  about  his  blows,  and  exerts  him- 
self in  the  most  furious  convulsions  while  the  dis- 
temper is  upon  him."  But  my  apprehensions  are 
of  another  sort.  Our  danger  is  from  tlie  disgust 
which  is  likely  to  arise  in  a  large  and  influential 
portion  of  society,  upon  beholding  the  destructive 
efforts  of  ambitious  or  disafiected  citizens.     The 

•  The  Freeholder,  No.  28. 


THE  working-man's  LIBERTIES.       133 

frame  of  our  government,  as  left  us  by  the  heroic 
men  who  planned  and  established  it,  is  the  master- 
piece of  political  architecture ;  it  was  often  and 
justly  compared  to  a  Temple  of  Freedom.  "  But 
noMf,"  we  may  say  with  an  ancient  poet,  "  they 
break  down  the  carved  work  thereof  with  axes 
and  hammers."  There  is  perhaps  no  man,  of  any 
trade,  who  does  not  think  himself  wise  enough  to 
tinker  at  a  state  constitution. 

With  the  aid  of  my  friend  Mr.  Appletree,  the 
schoolmaster,  and  my  favourite  Phitarch,  I  could 
easily  multiply  instances  of  the  dangers  of  licen- 
tiousness and  excess  among  a  free  people.  The 
ancient  histories  are  full  of  this.  So  are  the 
eventful  stories  of  modern  Italy.  A  volume  might 
be  filled  with  the  turmoil  of  Florence  alone.  And 
all  these  examples  go  to  show  how  important  it  is 
for  our  young  men  to  set  out  in  life  with  proper 
principles,  and  to  maintain  the  golden  mean  betwixt 
Scylla  and  Charybdis.  For  there  are  two  ex- 
tremes. On  the  one  side  is  the  scented,  girlish, 
long-haired  fopling,  fresh  from  Paris  or  London, 
who  tries  to  acquire  distinction  by  disparaging 
American  institutions.  Though  his  grandfather, 
perhaps,  wrought  with  his  own  hands,  the  stripling 
looks  on  all  republicanism  as  ungenteel.  And  on 
the  other  side  is  the  braggart  and  ruffian,  who 
would  resign  every  question  to  the  mob  as  the 
source  of  power,  and  have  the  country  convulsed 
by  annual  popular  elections  of  every  functionary 
from  a  judge  to  a  constable.  "A  usurping  popu  • 
12 


134  THE    WORKING-MAN, 

lace,"  said  Swift,  "  is  its  own  dupe,  a  mere  under- 
worker,  and  a  purchaser  in  trust  for  some  simple 
tyrant,  whose  state  and  power  they  advance  to 
their  own  ruin,  with  as  blind  an  instinct  as  those 
worms  that  die  with  weaving  magnificent  habits 
for  beings  of  a  superior  order.  The  people  are 
more  dexterous  in  pulling  down  and  setting  up, 
than  at  preserving  what  is  fixed :  and  they  are  not 
fonder  of  seizing  more  than  their  own,  than  they 
are  of  delivering  it  up  again  to  the  worst  bidder, 
with  their  own  into  the  bargain." 

The  upshot  of  the  matter  is  this:  people  should 
be  taught  from  their  cradles  what  true  freedom  is, 
and  how  it  is  to  be  maintained ;  how  it  differs 
from  lawlessness  and  misrule,  and  how  closely  it 
is  connected  with  popular  virtue.  The  boy  at 
school  and  in  the  shop  should  be  taught,  that 
nothing  can  be  done  without  order ;  that  there  can 
be  no  order  without  law ;  that  all  law  demands 
obedience  ;  and  that  in  such  obedience  to  rightful 
authority,  there  is  nothing  which  either  injures  or 
degrades.  The  apprentice  and  the  journeyman 
should  learn  betimes,  that  to  loosen  a  single  pin 
of  the  social  machine  is  like  loosening  the  pin  of 
a  steam-engine ;  and  wherever  the  disorganization 
may  begin,  it  will  never  stop  till  it  ruins  those 
who  have  begun  it.  When  public  disorders,  and 
civil  broils,  and  revolutionary  violence  once  enter, 
the  very  class  of  persons  who  always  bear  the 
worst  of  the  tempest,  is  that  for  whose  benefit  I 
am  writing — the  honest,  temperate,  home-loving, 
industrious,  frugal  working-men. 


IN    A    STRANGE    LAND.  IfiH 


XXII. 

THE    WORKING-MAN    IN   A   STRANGE    LAND. 

"  But  the  stranger  that  dwelleth  with  you  shall  be  unto 
you  as  one  born  among  you,  and  thou  shall  love  him  as 
thyself;  for  ye  were  strangers  in  the  land  of  Egypt." 

Lev.  xix.  34. 

On  a  cold  Saturday  night,  I  stepped  into  a  hat- 
ter's shop,  in  New  York,  to  supply  the  loss  of  a 
beaver,  which  had  been  hopelessly  injured  in  a 
crush  at  a  public  meeting.  The  gas-light  before 
the  door  threw  its  gleam  directly  in  the  face  of  a 
young  woman  who  was  sitting  near  the  counter. 
I  perceived  in  a  moment  that  she  was  thin,  pale, 
and  sorrowful.  Her  dark  hair  was  ready  to  fall 
over  her  cheeks,  as  if  she  had  forgotten  to  fasten 
it ;  her  lips  seemed  to  move ;  and  the  folds  of  a 
scanty  black  woollen  shawl  could  not  so  far  hide 
her  hands  but  that  I  perceived  she  was  wringing 
them.  I  remained  some  minutes  in  the  shop, 
and,  during  that  time,  saw  at  least  seven  or  eight 
young  women  and  girls  come  into  the  place  with 
work  which  they  had  been  doing,  after  delivering 
which  they  received  their  payment.  But  still  this 
sad  creature  kept  her  seat.  At  length  the  young 
man  of  the  establishment  said,  in  a  tone  somewhat 


136  THE    WORKING-MAN, 

peevish,  "Come,  Jane — it  is  nearly  ten  o'clock — 
I  am  going  to  shut  up — and  you  know  you  have 
been  paid."  She  looked  wildly  up  for  a  moment, 
and  then  dashed  out  of  the  house  as  if  she  had 
only  then  awaked  from  a  stupor.  "  She  is  in  a 
fair  way  to  be  crazy,"  said  the  young  man. 

"  Ah  !"  rejoined  I,  much  interested,  "  what  has 
happened  to  her?"  "  Oh  !  I  can  scarcely  tell  you 
the  whole,"  said  he ;  "  she  is  one  of  those  con- 
founded Irish — they  all  come  to  ruin."  "  I  hope 
the  girl  is  virtuous,"  said  I.  "  Oh !  virtuous 
enough,  I  warrant  ye,"  cried  he,  with  a  vulgar 
addition,  and  a  horse-laugh ;  "  otherwise  she 
would  not  be  sewing  fifteen  hours  a  day  on  hat- 
linings.  But  then  her  father  is  sick  in  bed,  her 
mother  is  just  dead,  the  only  brother  she  has  is 
in  jail  for  stealing  a  piece  of  domestic  cotton,  and 
there  are  three  little  sisters  that  have  to  be  sup- 
ported by  this  one.  I  happen  to  know  all  this ; 
for  her  brother  used  to  drive  an  omnibus  in  which 
I  came  down  town  every  morning." 

In  reflecting  on  this  case,  as  I  walked  to  my 
lodgings,  I  was  oppressed  with  a  recollection  of 
the  vulgar  saying,  that  "  one  half  the  world  does 
not  know  how  the  other  half  lives."  How  would 
it  shock,  even  the  most  heartless,  to  have  gathered 
before  1pm,  at  a  single  glance,  all  the  cases  of  this 
particular  kind  of  misery,  existing  at  this  very 
moment  in  New  York,  or  in  Philadelphia.  Alas ! 
the  stranger  and  foreigner  finds  many  of  his  golden 
dreams  untrue ;  and  dies  a  thousand  deaths,  ia 


IN    A    STRANGE    LAND.  137 

beholding  the  less  rugged  members  of  his  family 
perish  before  him.  Beauty,  health,  and  innocence 
are  too  often  the  sacrifice,  when  a  piercing  and 
unexpected  season  of  cold  and  poverty  comes  sud- 
denly on  a  young  creature  in  a  strange  country. 

No  man  will  have  the  hardihood  to  deny  that 
we  suffer  serious  inconveniences  from  the  unlimited 
importation  of  foreigners.  But  every  humane 
man  will  remember,  that  the  day  was  when  all 
the  settlers  of  this  country  were  emigrants ;  that 
his  own  ancestors  came  from  abroad ;  that  not  all 
are  ignorant,  vicious,  or  uncivilized ;  and  that 
even  where  vice  has  been  the  source  of  misery, 
such  misery  is  not  to  be  abandoned  to  despair 
and  ruin. 

It  is  the  fashion  to  say  much  against  the  Irish 
as  improvident,  intemperate,  and  riotous  ;  and  no 
one  can  deny  that  some  such  charge  is  no  more 
than  fair  against  a  large  number  ;  but  it  is  a  mo- 
mentous question  in  moral/jL  how  far  we  are  ex- 
empted from  the  duty  of  relieving  the  widow,  the 
fatherless,  the  sick,  or  the  aged,  of  any  nation, 
because  some,  or  even  most,  of  the  same  lineage 
are  vicious  people.  Some  of  the  best  blood  in 
America  is  from  Ireland.  Some  of  the  best  citizens 
are  the  sons  of  Irishmen.  Before  we  condemn, 
or  spurn  from  our  doors,  the  poor  son  of  Erin, 
we  are  to  remember  that  he  flies  to  us  from  untold 
wrongs,  and  that  he  has  heard  of  ours  as  the  land 
of  the  oppressed.  We  need  not  go  so  far  in  our 
proscription  as  to  denounce  every  creature  that  has 
12* 


1S8  THE    WORKING-MAW. 

the  brogue  upon  his  tongue.  I  well  remember 
having  once  stopped  for  a  moment  in  Pine  street, 
to  look  at  a  boy  who  had  been  thrown  from  a 
horse.  Several  men  were  around  a  pump  at 
which  they  were  washing  the  mire  and  blood  from 
his  face,  "  Who  frightened  the  horse  ?"  some- 
body inquired.  "Oh,"  cried  a  bystander,  "no- 
body can  tell ;  but  it  was  some Irishman, 

I'll  bet."  This  was  carrying  out  the  native  Ame- 
rican policy,  with  a  vengeance.  The  beauty  of 
the  thing  was,  that  not  ten  rods  off,  in  a  door-way, 
stood  the  Rev.  Mr.  P.,  a  genuine  Irishman,  with 
whom  I  was  going  to  breakfast.  He  heard  the 
critical  portion  of  the  speech,  and  sadly  smiled. 
By-the-by,  it  would  require  the  laborious  charities 
of  several  common  Americans  towards  the  Irish, 
to  repay  the  beneficence  of  this  good  clergyman 
among  the  sick  poor  of  our  own  country.  In 
conclusion,  let  me  say,  tliat  I  am  neither  an  Irish- 
man, nor  the  son  of  %a  Irishman. 


ADVANTAGES    OF    WORKING-MEN.       130 


XXIII. 

vOVANTAGES    OP    AMERICAN    WORKING-MEN. 

"How  small,  of  all  that  human  hearts  endure, 
Thai  t-a»t  which  laws  or  kings  can  cause  or  cure ! 
Still  to  I  Ui"Belve8  in  every  place  consign'd. 
Our  owo  liilsity  we  make  or  find." 

The  Traveller. 

It  is  not  unccumon  to  hear  mechanics  and 
other  working-men  repining  at  their  lot  in  life, 
especially  as  comp<}ifcd  with  that  of  such  as  are 
engaged  in  the  learned  professions.  In  hours  of 
despondency,  those  ait-  imagined  to  be  happy 
wlio  are  freed  from  the  lACxessity  of  manual  labour, 
whether  as  men  of  weaiia  or  of  letters.  Content- 
ment is  the  best  policy.  .Ail  is  not  gold  that  glit- 
ters. Inaction  is  not  ease.  Money  will  not  pur- 
.^hase  happiness.  Lords  and  ladies  are  often  very 
wretched  people ;  and  the  instances  are  numerous 
.n  which  even  kings  have  thought  men  of  humble 
»t«tions  the  happiest. 

M.  d'Alembert  relates  that  Frederick,  king  of 
Prussia,  once  said  to  him,  as  they  were  walking 
together  in  the  gardens  of  Sans  Souci,  "  Do  you 
see  thai  old  woman,  a  poor  weeder,  asleep  on  that 
sunny  bank  ?     She  is  probably  happier  than  either 


140  THE    WORKING-MAN. 

of  US."     So  also  Henry  IV.  exclaims,  in  Shak- 
speare, 

"  Canst  thou,  0  partial  Sleep !  give  thy  repose 
To  the  wet  sea-boy  in  an  hour  so  rude ; 
And  in  the  calmest  and  most  stillest  night, 
With  all  appliances  and  aids  to  boot, 
Deny  it  to  a  king  1" 

which  may  remind  us  of  the  saying  of  a  greater 
and  wiser  king  than  either :  "  The  sleep  of  a  . 
labouring-man  is  sweet,  whether  he  eat  little  or 
much ;  but  the  abundance  of  the  rich  will  not 
suffer  him  to  sleep."*  And  before  I  dismiss  my 
royal  witnesses,  let  me  cite  King  James  the  First, 
of  England,  who  used  to  say,  that  the  happiest 
lot  in  life  was  that  which  set  a  man  below  the 
office  of  a  justice  of  the  peace,  and  above  that  of 
a  petty  constable.! 

The  truth  is,  labour  is  not  an  evil.  "  In  the 
sweat  of  thy  face  shalt  thou  eat  bread,"  sounds 
like  a  curse,  but  has  been  made  a  blessing  by  our 
benign  Creator.  Health,  strength,  and  cheerful- 
ness are  promoted  by  the  proper  use  of  our  bodily 
powers.  Among  the  Jews,  labour  was  accounted 
so  honourable  and  so  necessary,  that  every  man 
used  to  be  bred  to  some  trade ;  that  so  he  might 
have  a  resource  in  case  of  misfortune.  The  same 
sentiment  has  prevailed  in  other  eastern  nations. 
One  of  the  Hebrew  Rabbles  has  the  surname  of 

•  Eccles.  V.  12. 

f  Life  of  Philip  Henry,  p.  25. 


ADVANTAGES    OP    WORKING-MEN,        141 

the  Shoemaker,  and  another  of  the  Baker.  Sir 
P^ul  Ricaut  somewhere  mentions,  that  the  Grand 
Seignior,  to  whom  he  was  ambassador,  had  been 
taught  to  make  wooden  spoons.  There  cannot 
be  a  greater  mistake  than  to  suppose  that  mental 
exertion  is  less  wearing  than  the  labour  of  the 
hands.  Head  work  is  the  hardest  work  in  the 
world.  The  artisan  feels  this  if  at  any  time  he 
has  to  spend  a  whole  day  in  calculation.  All  men 
of  learning  testify  to  the  same  truth,  and  their 
meager  frames  and  sallow  complexions  tell  a 
plainer  tale  than  their  words.  Sir  Edward  Goke, 
the  great  English  lawyer,  speaks  thus  concerning 
his  great  work :  "  Whilst  we  were  in  hand  with 
these  four  parts  of  the  Institutes,  we  often  having 
occasion  to  go  into  the  country,  did  in  some  sort 
envy  the  state  of  the  honest  ploughman  and  other 
mechanics.  For  one,  when  he  was  at  his  work, 
would  merrily  sing,  and  the  ploughman  whistle 
some  self-pleasing  tune,  and  yet  their  work  both 
proceeded  and  succeeded  ;  but  he  that  takes  upon 
him  to  write,  doth  captivate  all  the  faculties  and 
powers,  both  of  his  mind  and  body,  and  must  be 
only  attentive  to  that  which  he  coUecteth,  without 
any  expression  of  joy  or  cheerfulness  while  he 
is  at  his  work." 

But  if  it  is  true  of  working-men  everywhere 
tliat  as  such  their  lot  is  not  to  be  deplored,  it  is 
eminently  true  of  working-men  in  America,  as 
compared  with  those  of  other  countries.  It  is 
important  that  information  on  this  subject  should 


142  THE    WORKING-MAN. 

be  diffused  among  the  industrious  classes,  in  order 
to  show  them  how  unreasonable  are  their  murmurs. 
Take  the  case  of  the  common  labourer ;  he  is  bet- 
ter clothed,  better  lodged,  and  better  fed,  in  Ame- 
rica, than  in  any  country  on  earth.  Two-thirds 
of  the  French  people,  says  M.  Dupin,  are  at  this 
day  wholly  deprived  of  the  nourishment  of  animal 
food,  and  they  live  on  chestnuts,  Indian  corn,  or 
potatoes.  In  parts  of  Normandy,  the  lace-makers 
take  refuge  in  the  cow-houses,  where  the  breath 
of  the  catde  diffuses  some  warmth :  here  they  do 
the  whole  of  their  work  during  the  cold  season. 
Even  in  England,  many  of  the  hand-loom  workers 
receive  but  seven  shillings  a  week,  and  live  in 
damp  hovels,  almost  without  furniture.  I  need 
not  say  how  different  is  the  case  of  the  poorest 
labourer  among  ourselves  ;  while  the  condition  of 
the  thriving  mechanic  is,  in  comparison,  almost 
princely.  Mr.  Grund,  an  intelligent  foreigner, 
says,  on  this  point,  "  On  entering  the  house  of  a 
respectable  mechanic  in  any  of  the  large  cities  of 
the  United  States,  one  cannot  but  be  astonished 
at  the  apparent  neatness  and  comfort  of  the  apart- 
ments, the  large  airy  parlours,  the  nice  carpets 
and  mahogany  furniture,  and  the  tolerably  good 
library,  showing  the  inmates'  acquaintance  with 
the  standard  works  of  English  literature.  The 
labouring  classes  in  America  are  really  less  re- 
moved from  the  wealthy  merchants  and  profes- 
sional men  than  they  are  in  any  part  of  Europe." 
The  American  mechanic  has  the  prospect  of 


ADVANTAGES    OF    WORKING-MEN.       H3 

wealth  spread  before  him ;  and  as  he  advances 
towards  it,  his  leisure  increases  with  his  means. 
He  has  an  opportunity  to  lay  in  stores  of  know- 
ledge. If  he  has  attended  somewhat  to  learning 
in  his  younger  days,  he  finds  no  obstacle  now  in 
the  way  of  his  advancement  either  in  science  or 
literature.  With  a  moderate  income,  and  a  favour- 
able situation,  he  can  give  his  sons  and  daughters 
a  far  better  education  than  he  received  himself. 
And  if  he  is  so  happy  as  to  be  a  member  of  any 
Christian  church,  he  finds  that  there  is  no  privi- 
lege, trust,  or  oSice  from  which  he  is  excluded 
by  his  having  been  a  labouring-man.  Thus  he 
mingles  with  the  choicest  portions  of  society;  and 
if  he  live  to  old  age,  enjoys  the  grateful  repose 
of  that  season  as  fully  as  the  proudest  descendant 
from  nobles.  Is  there  any  country  but  our  own, 
where  aU  this  can  be  said  with  truth  ? 

Go  into  any  of  the  American  towns  and  large 
villages,  and  you  will  find  mechanics  occupying 
some  of  the  most  elegant  mansions  ;  you  will  see 
them  fiUing  the  highest  municipal  stations.  You 
will  recognise  them  in  large  proportion  among 
the  officers  of  the  militia,  in  the  direction  of 
moneyed  corporations,  and  upon  the  most  im- 
proved farms.  You  will  find  their  names  in  every 
ecclesiastical  record,  and  high  in  the  list  of  benefac- 
tors in  every  charity.  Such  are  the  signs  which 
should  satisfy  every  American  working-man,  that 
by  choosing  a  laborious  calling,  he  has  not  excluded 
himself  from  comfort,  usefulness,  or  honour. 


144  THE    WORKING-MAN. 


XXIV. 

THE    VILLAGE    TALKER. 

"  Talkers  are  no  good  doers." 

King  Richard  HI. 

After  the  lapse  of  twenty  odd  years,  I  have 
full  in  my  mind's  eye  the  person  of  Sandy  Thorp. 
He  was  a  grown  man,  while  I  was  still  a  child, 
yet  a  large,  portion  of  his  life  passed  within  my 
knowledge ;  which  will  be  the  more  credible  when 
I  say  that  the  better  portion  of  his  days  was  passed 
in  the  street.  Not  that  he  did  not  sometimes, 
nay,  often,  drop  into  the  door  of  a  tavern ;  for  he 
knew  everybody;  but  this  was  only  the  brief 
exception,  like  the  alighting  of  the  swallow.  It 
might  be  said  that  Sandy  was  always  on  tlie  wing. 
Not  even  Socrates  was  less  fond  of  the  country 
than  Sandy  Thorp,  who,  like  the  same  great  sage, 
was  almost  perpetually  engaged  in  discourse  by 
the  wayside.  At  whatever  hour  you  might  choose 
to  go  down  town,  you  would  be  sure  to  see  Sandy, 
whatever  else  you  might  miss.  In  the  early 
summer  morning  he  would  be  loitering  around 
the  stage-office  to  get  a  glimpse  of  the  passengers 
who  had  lodged  for  the  night ;  perhaps  to  snatch 
up  a  grain  of  news.     When  the  tavern  boarders 


THE    VILLAGE    TALKER.  145 

were  picking  their  teeth  on  the  porch  after  break- 
fast, Sandy  picked  his  teeth  under  the  same 
auspices.  The  opening  of  our  little  post-office 
usually  gathered  a  group,  of  whom  he  was  always 
one.  As  the  sun  came  out  hotter  and  hotter,  he 
would  retreat  from  the  open  ways,  to  some  shed 
or  awning,  or  saunter  from  shop  to  shop,  always 
on  his  feet,  and  evidently  preferring  the  outside 
to  the  inside  of  the  door.  At  that  still  hour  of  the 
afternoon,  when  the  Spaniard  takes  his  siesta, 
when  ladies  are  invisible,  and  when  every  thing 
seems  to  be  dead,  Sandy  was  as  brisk  as  the  bee 
that  hummed  over  his  head ;  for  wherever  a  list- 
ener could  be  found  he  was  haranguing,  with 
rapid  puffs  from  the  short  pipe  which  he  employed 
to  keep  down  his  nervous  agitation.  The  night 
did  not  close  his  activity,  and  I  have  often  heard 
his  voice,  long  before  I  could  discern  his  form, 
among  the  worthies  who  make  this  the  favourite 
season  of  their  promenade. 

Perhaps  I  am  drawing  a  picture  which  will  be 
recognised  in  more  towns  than  one.  Certain  I 
am  there  can  be  no  mistake  in  that  in  which  I 
write.  Though  Sandy  is  long  since  dead,  the 
race  is  not  extinct.  That  which  characterized 
him  was  his  ubiquity  and  his  news-mongering. 
It  was  his  pride  to  be  at  the  first  of  every  rumour. 
You  could  not  tell  him  any  thing  new,  or  make 
him  wonder  at  any  thing  unheard  of:  as  he  would 
not  be  instructed,  the  marvel  was  how  he  ever 
came  to  the  knowledge  of  his  facts.  Only  two 
13 


}46  THE    WORKIIJG-MAN, 

explanations  have  ever  been  attempted ;  one  was 
that  he  never  so  much  heard  as  overheard ;  though 
not  a  willing  listener,  he  vi^as  an  eavesdropper : 
and  while  he  hung  upon  the  outskirts  of  a  gathering 
of  men,  he  would  carry  away  more  of  the  conver- 
sation than  any  one  of  the  company.  Another 
account  was  that  many  of  the  incidents  which  he 
related  were  of  his  own  manufacture. 

No  occurrence  ever  mortified  him  more,  than 
when  Gleig,  the  Scotch  stone-cutter,  his  next  door 
neighbour,  absconded  during  the  night,  leaving 
Sandy  in  the  vocative  with  regard  to  the  rent  of  a 
little  yard  in  which  lie  worked  at  his  tomb-stone. 
He  could  not  pretend  that  it  had  been  done  with 
his  privity,  because  he  had  been  cozened :  he 
would  not  confess  ignorance,  because  he  w^ould 
thus  lose  the  chief  plume  in  his  cap.  For  several 
days  he  was  missing  from  the  village,  and  always 
spoke  of  the  event  as  very  mysterious. 

It  is  remarkable  that  in  almost  every  place, 
there  are  some  men  who  seem  to  have  no  means 
of  support,  and  who  live  along  for  years  together, 
without  suspicion  of  actual  dishonesty,  and  with- 
out falling  into  the  clutches  of  the  law.  If  Sandy 
Thorp  ever  had  a  trade,  nobody  could  tell  what  it 
was.  He  owned  a  little  shop  separate  from  his 
house,  but  no  work  was  ever  done  in  it,  and  whea 
any  one  was  allowed  to  peep  into  it  there  seemed 
to  be  nothing  in  it  but  old  iron,  scattered  tools, 
and  refuse  furniture  and  harness.  In  earlier  life 
Sandy  picked  up  a  dollar  now  and  then,  by  going 


THE    VILLAGE    TALKER.  147 

to  the  beach  for  a  wagon  load  of  fish,  or  by  filling 
an  ice-house,  or  in  the  spring  of  the  year  by  bring- 
ing in  choice  forest  trees  for  planting  in  pleasure- 
grounds.  But  his  main  employment  was  that  of 
a  veterinary  surgeon,  or,  more  vulgarly,  a  horse 
doctor.  Whether  this  science  comes  by  inspira- 
tion, or  whether  he  was  a  seventh  son,  I  know 
not,  but  he  took  it  up,  as  most  do,  without  any 
regular  diploma.  Like  all  loungers  about  tavern- 
doors,  he  was  much  engaged  in  passing  judgment 
on  all  the  horses  of  the  neighbourhood.  You 
might  see  him,  almost  daily,  feeling  the  legs,  or 
prying  into  the  mouths  of  the  hacks  in  the  stable- 
yard  :  and,  let  me  not  fail  to  say,  it  is  an  employ- 
ment in  which  he  has  not  left  us  without  suc- 
cessors. I  distinctly  remember  the  air  with  which 
he  would  handle  a  fleam,  or  perform  the  operation 
of  mashing  upon  a  choked  cow.  Such  perform- 
ances are  sure  to  collect  a  little  knot  of  men,  and 
this  was  just  what  Sandy  gloried  in.  Here  he 
could  repeat  the  freshest  news,  and  give  his  deci- 
sion upon  affairs  of  state  with  an  air  of  judicial 
complacency. 

Sandy  was  little  versed  in  books.  He  always 
knew,  however,  what  sign  the  sun  was  in,  and 
whether  the  heavens  were  favourable  for  planting, 
or  for  killing  porkers.  He  was  weather-wise, 
keeping  the  breast-bone  of  a  goose,  by  way  of 
teraphim.  No  one  ever  saw  him  in  church, 
except  at  funerals,  on  which  occasion  he  was  in 
Bome  sort  a  brevet  undertaker;  he  would  point 


148  THE    WORKING-MAN. 

out  the  way  for  the  bearers,  and  determined  whe- 
ther the  grave  was  wide  enough.  At  vendues, 
he  was  scarcely  ever  known  to  bid,  but  he  advised 
in  a  knowing  way.  Of  money  he  had  little  con- 
cern ;  the  instinct  of  beggars  always  led  them  to 
pass  him  by.  By  long  continued  street-walking, 
he  had  reduced  his  frame  to  a  wiry  fibre  ;  and  as 
he  was  tall,  erect,  and  always  thinly  clad,  his 
appearance  was  striking.  I  ought  to  add  that  he 
was  never  shabby.  His  apparel  though  very  old 
was  always  in  repair,  the  patches  and  darns  being 
done  with  a  neatness  which  made  some  suspect 
he  had  been  a  tailor.  It  was  observed  that  when 
he  had  worn  a  hat  for  several  years,  and  exhausted 
the  powers  of  brushing  and  ironing,  he  used  to 
put  crape  upon  it :  in  such  cases,  it  always  hap- 
pened, that  he  had  recently  lost  a  cousin  in  the 
"  Lake  country."  As  long  as  he  had  hair,  he 
powdered  it;  then  he  used  to  powder  his  bare 
crown,  until  this  genteel  appliance  became  obso- 
lete. There  was  always,  on  the  cuff  of  his  left 
sleeve,  a  row  of  pins,  inserted  with  geometrical 
parallelism.  When  he  talked,  he  was  in  the  habit 
of  whittling  a  stick,  so  that  his  track  was  often 
marked  by  little  piles  of  shavings.  His  likeness 
was  never  taken,  nor  could  it  have  been ;  for  when 
he  was  not  talking,  he  did  not  look  like  himself. 


PLEASURES  OF  THE  TABLE.     149 

XXV. 

PLEASURES    OP    THE    TABLE. 

"  Alas !  how  simple,  to  these  cates  compared, 
Was  that  crude  apple  that  diverted  Eve." 

MitToir. 

It  is  the  grand  endeavour  of  all  philosophy 
and  all  religion  to  elevate  the  immortal  part  of 
man ;  to  subdue  and  regulate  that  which  he  has  in 
common  wifh  the  brute,  and  thus  to  refine  and 
expand  his  nature.  But  there  is  a  latent  sensuality 
in  our  race  which  is  perpetually  thwarting  this 
pious  effort;  and  as  there  are  no  men  without 
appetites,  and  few  men  without  lusts,  he  who 
flatters  that  within  us  which  is  animal,  gains  a 
willing  votary,  and  often  beguiles  us  in  spite  of 
our  reason.  The  fine  arts,  occupying  a  field 
intermediate  between  the  region  of  sense  and  that 
of  intellect,  have  on  this  very  account  been  often 
prostituted.  Painting,  sculpture,  and  especially 
music,  have  pandered  to  the  unworthy  principle, 
and  poetry  and  other  kindred  parts  of  literature 
have  been  made  to  do  homage  to  sense.  All  this 
shows  a  sad  inversion  of  human  nature.  It  is  not 
that  we  have  senses,  that  we  have  appetites,  that 
we  have  desires,  that  we  have  passions,  but  it  is 
13* 


150  THE    WORKING-MAN. 

that  we  serve  them,  that  we  are  betrayed  by  them, 
that  they  become  our  idols.  Eden,  the  dwelling 
of  pure  heaven-like  creatures,  was  a  garden  of 
sense ;  its  fruits  were  material,  its  sights  and 
sounds  addressed  bodily  organs ;  its  paths  were 
trodden  by  creatures  of  flesh  and  blood.  Let  us 
not  curse  the  harmless  matter,  or  the  indifferent 
sense ;  but  let  us  fear  their  abuse,  in  the  present 
decrepit  condition  of  humanity. 

Drunkenness  has  had  its  poetry.  Nay,  start 
not — some  of  the  most  stirring  effusions  of  the 
age  have  been  written  by  men  whose  "  fine 
frenzy"  was  a  sort  of  Dutch  courage :  Byron 
declared  the  true  Hippocrene  to  be  gin  and  water. 
The  festivities  of  the  table  have  been  accompanied 
with  music  and  song,  in  all  ages.  Now  I  plead 
for  the  festivities,  in  every  virtuous  sense,  and  I 
plead  for  the  song ;  but  in  the  name  of  injured 
human  nature  I  cry  out  against  the  intoxication. 
Look  back  to  early  ages,  and  you  see  Bacchus 
presiding  over  the  poets.  Anacreon  was  the 
darling  glee-maker  for  the  old  wine-bibbers.  Horace 
was  little  behind  him  among  the  Romans.  In  oui 
day  half  the  ballads  remaining  in  our  own  language 
turn  upon  drinking  and  drunkenness ;  and  many 
a  noble  traditionary  air  is  linked  to  the  devil's 
own  litany,  as  in  Cauld  Kale  in  Merdeen : 

"  For  I  maun  hae  my  cogie,  sire, 
I  canna  want  my  cogie  ; 
I  wadna  gie  my  three-girr'd  cog 
»    Ji  ili<j    '    fo''  *'  t^ic  queans  in  Bogie." 


PLEASURES  OF  THE  TABLE.     151 

In  adapting  new  words  to  the  Scots'  old  melodies, 
it  was  scarcely  to  be  expected  that  Robert  Burns 
would  so  far  preach  above  his  practice  as  to  sing 
of  cold  water ;  and  some  of  Tom  Moore's  most 
brilliant  melodies  have  almost  the  scent  of  cham- 
pagne. All  seem  to  have  thought  with  the  Roman, 
that  a  water-drinker  could  not  be  a  poet. 

In  other  branches  of  elegant  letters,  men  who 
should  have  felt  the  high  calling  to  be  the  ministers 
of  moderation  and  virtue,  have  in  certain  instances, 
even  when  they  have  not  inculcated  indulgence, 
spread  the  sensual  table  with  such  seductive 
sweets  and  garlands,  as  to  wake  the  tendencies 
which  they  should  have  lulled.  It  would  be  hard 
to  throw  a  glory  around  the  extreme  of  inebriety: 
the  incongruity  of  Christopher  Sly  in  the  bed  of 
silk  would  startle  one  into  ridicule.  The  poet's 
wreath  cannot  be  conveniently  placed  on  him  who 
is  dead  drunk.  But  to  this  last  depth  men  are 
conducted  through  divers  descents  and  landing- 
places  ;  and  of  those  some  which  are  near  the  sur- 
face, fall  within  the  circle  of  flowers  and  breezes, 
the  poet's-land.  Thus  the  wine-cup  and  the  lyre 
have  lain  side  by  side  for  ages ;  but  an  evil  demon 
has  maintained  the  connexion ;  and  I  would  to 
God  that  at  once  and  forever  American  youth 
might  dissever  in  their  thoughts  all  that  is  ingenuous 
and  joyful  from  the  paroxysms  of  vinous  inspi- 
ration. 

Drinking,  as  a  mere  bodily  act,  is  not  more 
dignified  than  eating:   yet  we  have  no  eating- 


152  THE    WORKING-MAN. 

songs.  Though  great  events,  such  as  a  successful 
election,  are  solemnized  by  a  dinner  or  a  supper, 
yet  some  veil  is  thrown  over  the  deglutition.  We 
drink  sentiments  ;  we  never  eat  them.  In  adver- 
tisements precedent,  and  narratives  subsequent, 
the  orators  and  singers  at  these  banquets  are  never 
presented  to  the  reader's  imagination  as  pouring 
out  eloquence  or  song  through  the  interstices  of 
venison  or  oysters,  but  over  bumpers  of  costly 
wine.  Yet  both  go  to  the  same  place ;  and  the 
whole  artifice  is  one  of  the  tricks  we  put  upon 
ourselves.  Conscious  that  our  souls  are  affronted 
by  this  prominency  given  to  animal  indulgence, 
we  use  all  the  poor  means  in  our  power  to  array 
these  gross  delights  in  the  vesture  of  tasteful 
spirituality.  Disguise  the  matter  as  we  may, 
ornament  as  we  may  the  table  or  the  cup,  it  is  of 
the  earth,  earthy.  The  soul  spurns  it.  We  do 
but  fill  and  feed  that  which  is  presently  to  be  a 
corpse  and  putrefaction.  Do  I  cry  out  against 
this  ?  Not  by  any  means ;  but  I  speak,  for  the 
soul,  against  the  homage  we  are  so  busily  paying 
to  the  body.  God  has  graciously  made  our  meat 
and  our  drink  delightful ;  but  it  is  we,  who,  like 
the  Egyptians  with  their  goat  and  their  onion, 
have  made  them  gods.  We  must  fight  against 
this  usurpation.  We  must  from  our  infancy  keep 
under  the  body.  He  who  would  be  a  man,  must 
treat  his  lower  nature  as  a  gigantic  slave,  who  is 
always  watching  his  chance  to  rise  and  be  upper- 
most. 


FLEASTTBES   OF   THE    TABLE.  153 

•There  are  some  who  pride  themselves  upon 
withholding  from  their  lips  every  thing  which  can 
intoxicate,  while  they  indulge  in  all  other  plea- 
sures of  the  table  ad  libitum.  This  is  a  great 
mockery.  The  soul  may  be  crushed  with  a  load, 
as  well  as  drowned  with  a  flood.  We  have  the 
statistics  of  the  disease  and  death  caused  by  drink- 
ing, but  who  will  furnish  that  caused  by  eating  ? 
So  far  as  the  overt  act  is  concerned,  the  latter  is 
certainly  the  more  brutal.  As  a  conclusion  to  my 
outcry  against  animalism,  I  will  state  a  case,  which 
may  serve  to  show  that  there  is  a  nearer  analogy 
than  is  usually  suspected  between  the  two  sorts 
of  excess ;  and  which  may  further  afford  an  exer- 
cise for  the  pens  of  certain  modern  authors  who 
are  fond  of  describing  with  Apician  gusto  the  pro- 
gress of  a  feast.  True,  the  sketch  I  shall  offer 
relates  to  the  Esquimaux ;  but  still  it  will,  for  that 
very  reason,  best  serve  my  purpose  of  exhibiting, 
without  a  mask,  the  devotee  of  sense ;  and  I  would 
not  quote  it,  if  it  were  less  disgusting.  "  We 
found,"  says  Capt.  Lyon,  in  the  account  of  his 
northern  adventures,  "  that  the  party  which  had 
been  adrift  had  killed  two  large  walruses,  which 
they  had  carried  home  during  the  early  part  of  the 
night.  No  one  therefore  came  to  the  ships,  ali 
remaining  in  the  huts  to  gormandize.  We  found 
the  men  lying  under  their  deer-skins,  and  clouds 
of  steam  rising  from  their  naked  bodies.  From 
Kooilittuk  I  learned  a  new  Esquimaux  luxury; 
he  had  eaten  until  he  was  drunk,  and  every  mo- 


154  THE    WORKING-MAN. 

ment  fell  asleep  with  a  flushed  and  burning  face, 
and  his  mouth  open.  By  his  side  sat  Arnalooa, 
who  was  attending  her  cooking-pot,  and  at  short 
intervals  awakened  her  spouse,  in  order  to  cram 
as  much  as  was  possible  of  a  large  piece  of  half- 
boiled  flesh  into  his  mouth,  with  the  assistance  of 
her  forefinger,  and  having  filled  it  quite  full,  cut 
ofi"  the  morsel  close  to  his  lips.  This  he  slowly 
chewed,  and  as  soon  as  a  small  vacancy  became 
perceptible,  this  was  filled  by  a  lump  of  raw  blub- 
ber. During  this  operation  the  happy  man  moved 
no  part  of  him  but  his  jaws,  not  even  opening  his 
eyes ;  but  his  extreme  satisfaction  was  occasionally 
shown  by  a  most  expressive  grunt,  whenever  he 
enjoyed  sufficient  room  for  the  passage  of  sound. 
The  drippings  of  the  savoury  repast  had  so  plen- 
tifully covered  his  face  and  neck,  that  I  had  no 
hesitation  in  determining  that  a  man  may  look 
more  like  a  beast  by  over-eating  than  by  drinking 
to  excess."* 

•  Capt.  Lyon's  Private  Journal,  p.  183. 


DRINKING   AND   DRUNK£NN£SS.         255 


XXVI. 

r 

DRINKING  AND   DRUNKENNESS. 

"  O  thou  invisible  spirit  of  wine,  if  thou  hast  no  name 
to  be  known  by,  let  us  call  thee — devil."  Othello. 

If  an  insane  parent  should  be  brought  to  the 
diabolical  resolution  of  burning  a  child  to  death, 
it  would  not  be  necessary  that  he  should  violently 
thrust  the  infant  into  the  flames.  Only  remove 
from  the  little  creature  all  dread  of  the  fire,  give 
him  free  access  within  the  fender  to  the  blazing 
billets,  and  no  long  time  would  elapse  before  the 
ruin  would  be  consummated.  And  precisely  so, 
in  regard  to  death  and  destruction  by  strong  drink. 
The  parent  need  not  drench  his  son  with  a  mortal 
dose  of  alcohol ;  nay,  he  need  not  force  him  to  be 
even  once  drunk.  All  that  is  necessary  is  that  he 
should  bring  him  up  to  absolute  carelessness  as  to 
the  danger  of  strong  drink,  allow  him  license  in 
tasting  it,  and  set  him  the  example  of  indulgence. 
Alas !  for  one  that  is  literally  burned  alive,  there 
are  a  hundred  destroyed  by  the  liquid  fire. 

I  should  not  deem  myself  pardonable,  if  I  were 
to  omit  this  topic  in  addressing  young  men,  espe- 
cially those  of  the  industrious  class ;  and  although 
some  of  the  crusades  in  favour  of  the  virtue  of 


156  THE    WORKING-MAN. 

temperance  have  been  conducted  with  fanatical 
heats,  and  a  contempt  for  all  evidence  and  every 
rule  of  reasoning,  I  cannot  think  that  any  friend 
of  his  race  is  thereby  excused  from  the  duty  of 
employing  every  means  to  secure  our  rising  popu- 
lation ^rom  so  intense  a  curse  as  that  of  drunken- 
ness. And  when  I  speak  of  drunkenness,  my 
metaphysics  will  not  help  me  to  take  a  distinction 
between  getting  drunk  on  gin  and  getting  drunk 
on  cider.  In  the  present  state  of  the  vintner's 
business,  the  difference  between  a  brandy-sot  and 
a  wine-sot,  is  just  this;  the  one  drinks  brandy 
and  water;  the  other  drinks  brandy  and  wine. 
It  is  drunkenness,  and  its  provocatives,  against 
which  I  would  raise  the  alarm.  The  direct  and 
undeniable  arguments  against  this  vice  are  so 
numerous  and  overwhelming,  that  I  feel  no  neces 
sity  for  rushing  into  the  ludicrous  paradoxes, 
exaggerated  statistics,  and  profane  wresting  of  holy 
writ,  which  have  become  a  part  of  the  regular 
agitation  in  this  matter.  Therefore  I  have  never 
sought  to  prove  that  the  wine  of  the  Scriptures 
was  not  inebriating,  or  that  alcohol,  in  its  smallest 
portion,  is  concrete  iniquity.  But  with  the  incon- 
trovertible reasons  occurring  in  every  day's  walk, 
I  would  urge  on  my  young  countrymen  to  abhor 
the  cup  of  temptation.  The  sight  of  one  slavering 
drunkard  is  enough ;  it  contains  an  encyclopedia 
of  arguments  against  any  indulgence  in  strong 
liquors.  I  am  amazed  that,  as  one  man,  our  youth 
do  not  arise  in  their  strength,  and  swear  to  exter- 


DRINKING    AND   DRUNKENNESS.  157 

minate  this  dragon.  I  am  amazed  that  a  single 
young  man,  so  long  as  there  remains  a  drunkard 
in  the  land,  should  hesitate  to  save  himself  from 
the  reach  of  the  monster's  fang.  And  most  of  all 
am  I  amazed  that  there  should  be  a  single  being, 
not  confessedly  a  coward-  and  hypocrite,  wbo  can 
be  deterred  by  the  sneers  of  corrupt  comrades  from 
adopting  a  line  of  conduct  which  his  reason  and 
his  conscience  imperatively  prescribe. 

If  we  can  raise  up  a  generation  of  sturdy  fellows 
who  have  never  tasted  the  evil  spirit,  we  shall 
insure  to  the  country,  at  a  later  day,  a  tribe  of 
hale  aged  men,  every  one  of  whom  may  say  with 
old  Adam — 

"  Though  I  look  old,  yet  I  am  strong  and  lusty : 
For  in  my  youth  I  never  did  apply 
Hot  and  rebellious  liquors  in  my  bldod ; 
Nor  did  not  with  unbashful  forehead  woo 
The  means  of  weakness  and  debility ; 
Therefore  my  age  is  as  a  lusty  winter. 
Frosty  but  kindly."* 

And  our  descendants  will  look  back  on  the 
annals  of  intoxication  with  as  much  incredulity  or 
detestation,  as  that  with  which  we  ourselves  con- 
template the  gladiatorial  shows,  or  the  orgies  of 
the  cannibal. 

The  attraction  which  has  brought  me  to  this 
subject  is  certainly  not  its  novelty,  but  its  import- 
ance ;  and  I  must  even  run  the  risk  of  repeating 

•  As  You  Like  It 
14 


158  THE    WORKING-MAN. 

things  which  have  been  uttered  at  a  hundred  Tem- 
perance meetings  ;  these  pages  may,  however,  be 
read  by  some  who  do  not  frequent  such  assem- 
blies. To  the  young  man  whose  eye  is  upon 
this  page,  I  would  therefore  say,  do  for  yourself 
what  the  Spartans  used  to  do  for  their  children ; 
summon  before  you  some  beastly  impersonation 
of  the  vice,  in  order  that  it  may  forever  seize 
your  imagination  and  your  heart.  Call  before 
your  mind's  eye  a  group  of  the  worst  drunkards 
within  your  knowledge.  Fancy  the  whole  dozen 
to  be  before  you — as,  for  instance,  on  the  bench 
or  settee  of  some  gin  or  beer  shop.  Behold  the 
maudlin  tears,  the  drivel,  the  lack-lustre  eye,  the 
hiccough,  the  belch,  the  vomit,  (shame  on  vice 
which  makes  indecency  indispensable  to  truth,) 
the  stagger,  the  stammer,  the  idiotism !  Behold 
decrepitude  in  youth,  and  contempt  in  hoary  hairs  I 
Add  to  the  scene  the  wives  they  have  murdered, 
and  the  sons  who  have  died  of  drink  before  their 
eyes — and  then — while  your  "gorge  rises"  at  the 
spectacle, — fix  in  your  soul  this  one  truth — There 
is  not  one  of  these  demoniacs  who  was  not  once 
as  pure  and  as  fearless  as  yourself. 

There  is  something  so  nauseous  in  the  extreme 
symptoms  of  this  disease,  that  it  might  be  proper 
to  cast  a  veil  over  them,  if  it  were  not  that  Provi- 
dence has  made  them  odious  in  order  to  alarm  our 
fears.  We  ought  therefore  to  take  a  fair  look  upon 
the  stagnant  pool  of  abominations  in  which  those 
wallow  who  tamper  with  this  indulgence.     In  the 


DRINKING    AND    DRUNKENNESS.  159 

approach,  Intemperance  shows  a  gay  and  pleasing 
face :  her  complexion  is  ruddy,  her  wreathed  smiles 
are  soft  and  melting ;  she  sings  and  dances,  as  she 
offers  "  the  sweet  poison  of  misused  wine."  She 
leads  the  social  bevy,  and  steals  the  mask  of  friend- 
ship, of  liberality,  and  of  patriotism.  She  proffers 
her  assistance  at  every  festival.  It  is  this  aspect 
of  the  Circe  which  allures  and  misleads.  It  is 
only  after  the  seduction  has  been  completed — after 
the  curtain  has  been  dropped — in  the  recesses  of 
her  private  chamber,  that  the  horrid  truth  is  dis- 
played. There  it  is  the  victim  finds  that  her  eye  is 
a  red  fountain  of  rheums,  her  breath  putrescence, 
her  visage  livid  and  bloated,  her  tongue  ribald, 
and  her  frame  a  mass  of  ulcerous  corruption. 

Faugh !  "  Give  me  an  ounce  of  civet,  good 
apothecary,  to  sweeten  my  imagination  !"  You 
may  well  exclaim  thus ;  but  the  more  you  are  dis- 
gusted, the  more  just  is  your  impression;  and  the 
vile  emblem  is  faint  when  placed  by  the  viler 
reality.  Seeing  then  that  the  cup  of  wine  leads 
to  such  issues,  and  that  the  merely  temporal  results 
of  drinking  are  thus  loathsome,  let  me  beg  you  to 
abjure  all  those  sportive  and  therefore  palliative 
expressions  which  are  often  employed  to  describe 
a  condition  which  is  in  wretchedness  and  degrada- 
tion below  nothing  on  this  side  of  hell.  We  have 
many  merry  tropes  by  which  to  point  out  that  a 
man  has  made  himself  a  fool  or  a  maniac.  The 
Arabs  are  said  to  have  near  a  hundred  names  for 
a  lion.     We  have  almost  as  many  for  a  man  in 


160  THE    WORKING-MAN. 

liquor.  But  in  proportion  as  we  laugh,  we  fail  to 
abhor.  The  boy  who  jeers  a  street-drunkard,  has 
his  natural  horror  merged  in  a  mere  sense  of  the 
ludicrous.  Let  this  be  examined,  and  it  will,  if  I 
err  not,  lead  to  a  principle  which  has  been  too 
much  neglected.  Mandon  at  once  and  for  life 
the  use  as  a  beverage,  either  habitually  or  occu' 
aionally,  of  every  liquid  which  can  intoxicate. 
With  a  soul  filled  with  detestation  of  this  chief  of 
the  Furies,  free  yourself  from  her  solicitations. 


THE    working-man's    HEALTH.         161 


XXVII. 

THE    working-man's    HEALTH. 

"  Know,  then,  whatever  cheerful  and  serene 
Supports  the  mind,  supports  the  body  too. 
Our  greatest  good,  and  what  we  least  can  spare, 
Is  Hope :  the  last  of  all  our  evils.  Fear." 

Armsthoito. 

In  a  late  visit  I  had  the  pleasure  of  meeting  my 
two  good  friends,  uncle  Benjamin  and  the  school- 
master, quietly  seated  under  the  shade  of  a  spread- 
ing buttonwood  tree.  Upon  my  making  some 
little  complaints  about  my  ill  health,  uncle  Benja- 
min interrupted  me  with  "  Pshaw !  man  !  beware 
of  becoming  a  grumbler.  I  have  known  a  man 
whose  everlasting  reply  was  Dying,  while  he 
ate  well,  slept  well,  and  looked  as  if  he  could 
have  knocked  down  a  beef." 

"  Some  men,"  said  the  schoolmaster,  quoting 
Cowper, — 

"  Some  men  employ  their  health,  an  ugly  trick. 

In  making  known  how  oft  they  have  been  sick, 

And  give  us,  in  recitals  of  disease, 

A  doctor's  trouble,  but  without  the  fees ; 

Relate  how  many  weeks  they  kept  their  bed. 

How  an  emetic  or  cathartic  sped ; 

Nothing  is  slightly  touch'd,  much  less  forgot. 

Nose,  ears,  and  eyes  seem  present  on  the  spot." 
14* 


162  THE    WORKING-MAN. 

"  Just  SO,"  rejoined  uncle  Benjamin  :  "  ailing 
folks  should  live  in  hospitals ;  at  any  rate  they 
should  remember  that  other  people  are  not  so 
deeply  interested  in  their  disorders.  In  a  long 
life  I  have  always  observed,  that  there  is  no  greater 
difference  between  an  ill-bred  and  a  well-bred  man, 
than  that  the  latter  keeps  his  litde  troubles  to  him- 
self. It  is  a  shame  for  active  mechanics  to  become 
complainers ;  even  if  they  are  amiss,  brooding 
only  makes  matters  worse.  What  says  the  pro- 
verb ?  the  three  best  doctors  are  Dr.  Diet,  Dr. 
Quiet,  and  Dr.  Merryman.  What  says  the  Bible  ? 
Ji  merry  heart  doeth  good  like  a  medicine."* 

"  That  reminds  me,"  said  Appletree,  "of  what 
is  said  of  the  famous  Dr.  Nichols,  that  whatever 
a  man's  distemper  might  be,  he  would  not  attend 
him,  as  a  physician,  if  his  mind  was  not  at  ease ; 
for  he  believed  that  no  medicines  would  have  any 
influence.  And  I  dare  say  you  have  read  the 
twenty-fifth  number  of  the  Spectator,  where  Addi- 
son says,  '  the  fear  of  death  often  proves  mortal,' 
and  that  many  more  thousands  are  killed  in  a  flight 
than  in  a  battle,  and  that  it  is  impossible  that  we 
should  take  delight  in  any  thing  that  we  are  every 
moment  afraid  of  losing." 

"  There  is  too  much  talk,"  said  uncle  Benjamin, 
♦*  about  health  as  a  separate  concern.  If  men  are 
temperate,  regular,  active,  cheerful,  and  cleanly, 
they  will  generally  be  well.  If  not,  let  them 
bewail  their  mishaps,  not  before  their  friends,  but 
•  Prov.  xvii.  22. 


THE    working-man's    HEALTH.         163 

their  doctor.  But  what  with  bran-bread  and  vege- 
table diet,  and  what  with  lectures  and  tracts  upon 
health,  hundreds  are  put  in  the  way  of  becoming 
symptom-hunters,  then  hypochondriacs,  and  then 
real  invalids.  None  but  a  fool  will  go  to  fingering 
the  nice  works  of  a  watch ;  yet  any  one  feels  free 
to  tinker  with  his  constitution.  First  whims,  then 
experiments,  ruin  the  strength." 

"  Even  learned  men,"  said  the  schoolma-^ter, 
"  have  fallen  victims  to  this  folly.  Dr.  Stark,  an 
eminent  physician  of  the  last  century,  experi- 
mented on  diet  until  his  life  ended  in  February, 
1770.  On  the  24th  of  the  preceding  June  he 
began  with  bread  and  water.  On  the  26th  of 
July  he  changed  this  for  bread,  water,  and  sugar. 
Then  came  bread,  water,  and  olive  oil.  On  the 
8th  of  September  he  was  so  weak  that  he  almost 
fainted  in  walking  across  the  room.  The  last 
mess  but  one  was  a  diet  of  bread  or  flour  with 
honey,  and  an  infusion  of  tea  or  of  rosemary. 
He  died  on  the  23d  of  February.  Bathing,  which 
is  one  of  the  best  things  in  the  world,  may  be 
carried  to  excess.  Men  of  one  idea  are  fond  of 
recommending  their  own  notions  to  every  one : 
but  Dr.  Currie  closes  the  account  of  one  of  his 
experiments  in  cold  bathing  with  the  remark,  that 
the  chief  thing  he  learned  from  it  was,  that  it  was 
not  rashly  to  be  repeated." 

"Right,  right,"  exclaimed  uncle  Benjamin; 
"  '  God  never  made  his  work  for  man  to  mend.' 
The  really  robust  and  long-lived  men  in  all  nations 


164  THE    WORKING-MAN. 

have  always  been  those  who  have  had  no  whimsies. 
They  have  been  temperate,  and  cleanly,  and  good- 
natured,  and  brisk,  but  they  have  kept  no  lenten 
days,  nor  proscribed  any  of  the  ordinary  articles 
of  diet.  Good  roast  beef,  with  tea,  coffee,  and 
garden  stuffs,  has  not  shortened  their  days.* 
And  I  believe  after  all  it  is  quantity  rather  than 
quality  which  hurts  us.  Let  a  man  be  forever 
asking  himself,  Will  this  hurt?  or,  Will  that  hurt? 
and  he  will  soon  arrive  at  the  point  at  which  every 
thing  will  hurt." 

"  Exactly  so,"  said  the  schoolmaster.  "  When 
Dr.  Johnson's  friend  Taylor  happened  to  say  that 
he  was  afraid  of  emetics,  for  fear  of  breaking  some 
small  vessels,  '  Poh !'  said  Johnson,  '  if  you  have 
so  many  things  that  will  break,  you  had  better 
break  your  neck  at  once,  and  there's  an  end  on't. 
You  will  break  no  small  vessels  !'  And  then, 
says  Boswell,  he  puffed  and  blowed  with  high 
derision." 

The  real  diseases  of  working-men  deserve  to 
be  considered  with  all  possible  aid  from  science. 
Let  their  causes  and  frequency  be  noted  and  re- 

•  "  Mr.  Wesley,"  says  Dr.  Southey,  "  believed  that  the  use 
of  tea  made  his  hand  shake  so  before  he  was  twenty  years 
old,  that  he  could  hardly  write.  He  published  an  essay 
against  tea-drinking,  and  left  off  during  twelve  years:  then, 
'  at  the  close  of  a  consumption,'  by  Dr.  Fothergill's  directions, 
he  used  it  again,  and  probably  learned  how  much  he  had 
been  mistaken  in  attributing  ill  effects  to  so  refreshing  and 
innocent  a  beverage." 


THE    WORKINO-MAn's    HEALTH.         165 

ported.  Where  prevention  is  possible,  let  them 
be  prevented;  where  cure  is  possible,  let  them 
be  cured;  but  let  them  not  weigh  like  a  night- 
mare on  those  who  are  well.  The  statistics  of 
disease  in  England  go  to  show  that  "  one  hundred 
of  the  efficient  male  population  of  the  country  are 
net  liable  to  more  than  twenty-five  severe  attacks 
of  disease  in  the  year.  Each  man  is  liable  to  a 
protracted  disease,  disabling  him  from  work,  every 
four  years :  this  forms  one  great  section  of  the 
sickness  of  the  country,  but  it  does  not  include 
accidents  from  fighting  and  drunkenness,  or  the 
many  ailments  which  make  men  apply  for  me- 
dical advice  while  they  carry  on  their  occupa- 
tion, comprising,  perhaps,  as  many  more  cases 
of  a  slighter  character,  which  raise  to  fifty  per 
cent,  the  proportion  of  the  population  attacked 
annually."* 

Some  of  our  working-men  of  the  active  trades 
lose  their  health  by  over-eating  and  over-working : 
of  course  I  leave  out  the  drinking  men,  who  can 
seldom  have  sound  insides.  Extreme  exertion 
wears  out  multitudes  in  all  trades  where  great 
bodily  power  is  required.  The  coal-heavers  of 
London,  healthy  as  they  look,  are  but  a  short- 
lived people.  The  heavy  loads  which  they  carry 
and  the  liquor  which  they  drink  carry  them  off 
rapidly.  Before  the  introduction  of  the  power- 
press,  a  large  proportion  of  the  pressmen  who 

*  Statistical  Account  of  the  British  Empire ;  Article  by 
Dr.Fanr. 


166  THE    WORKING-MAN. 

were  accustomed  to  print  large  newspapers,  by 
hand,  were  aftected  with  a  particular  disease, 
which  is  the  result  of  an  unequal  action  on  the 
muscles.  In  the  sedentary  trades,  the  danger  is 
from  constrained  position,  bad  air,  want  of  ex- 
ercise, and  want  of  water.  An  hour  every  day  ** 
in  the  garden  or  wood-yard,  and  a  daily  sponging 
of  the  whole  body,  together  with  temperance, 
cheerful  evening  visits,  and  good  music,  would 
put  blood  into  the  veins  of  many  a  limber  teiilor 
and  swarthy  shoemaker. 


BATHS,  AND   CLEANLINESS.  167 


XXVIII. 

BATHS,   AND    CLEANLINESS. 

"  'Tis  this  adorns  the  rich ; 
The  want  of  this  is  poverty's  worst  wo ; 
With  this  external  virtue,  age  maintains 
A  decent  grace ;  without  it,  youth  and  charms 
Are  loathsome."  AkmstrobTo 

There  is  nothing  in  which  the  domestic  eco- 
nomy of  the  moderns,  more  differs  from  that  of 
the  ancients,  than  in  the  article  of  Baths.  The 
allusions  of  the  Bible  to  this  practice  are  familiar 
to  us  all.  The  Egyptians,  the  Greeks,  and  the 
Romans  agreed  in  making  it  a  part  of  their  daily 
routine.  The  public  baths  of  the  Romans  were 
magnificent  structures.  Those  of  Caracalla  were 
adorned  with  two  hundred  pillars,  and  furnished 
with  sixteen  hundred  seats  of  marble ;  on  which 
three  thousand  persons  could  be  accommodated  at 
once.  Those  of  Dioclesian  were  still  more  sump- 
tuous. Alexander  Severus,  to  gratify  the  passion 
for  bathing,  ordered  the  warm  baths  to  be  opened 
by  break  of  day,  and  also  supplied  the  lamps  with 
oil.  Thus  the  bath  became  a  universal  luxury, 
until  there  were  some  so  devoted  to  the  enjoyment 
as  to  use  it  four,  five,  and  even  eight  times  a  day. 


168  THE    WORKING-MAN. 

In  modern  Europe,  though  bathing  is  not  so 
highly  prized  as  it  was  among  the  ancients,  it  is 
regarded  as  far  more  necessary  to  health  and  com- 
fort than  among  ourselves.  Indeed  the  neglect  of 
thorough  ablution  is  not  unlikely  to  become  a  na- 
tional reproach.  A  British  traveller  says,  and  not 
without  some  appearance  of  truth,  that  "  the  prac- 
tice of  travellers'  washing  at  the  door  or  in  the 
porticoes,  or  at  the  wells  of  taverns  and  hotels, 
once  a  day,  is  most  prejudicial  to  health  ;  the  ablu- 
tion of  the  body,  which  ought  never  to  be  neglect- 
ed, at  least  twice  a  day,  in  a  hot  climate,  being 
altogether  inconsistent  with  it.  In  fact,"  he  adds, 
"  I  have  found  it  more  difficult,  in  travelling  in  the 
United  States,  to  procure  a  liberal  supply  of  water 
at  all  times  of  the  day  and  night  in  my  bedcham- 
ber than  to  obtain  any  other  necessary.  A  supply 
for  washing  the  hands  and  face  once  a  day  seems 
all  that  is  thought  requisite."*  Though  the  tra- 
veller's censure  applies  with  its  full  force  to  some 
parts  of  his  own  country,  we  may  take  a  useful 
hint,  and  amend  our  ways. 

The  two  great  considerations  which  recommend 
the  bath  are  its  influence,  first,  on  cleanliness,  and, 
next,  on  health  ;  and  the  latter  is  in  a  great  degree 
dependent  on  the  former.  '*  Cleanliness,"  as  John 
Wesley  is  reported  to  have  said,  "  is  the  next 
thing  to  godliness ;"  and  such  is  the  connexion 
between  outward  and  inward  purity,  that,  in  all 

•  Stuart's  Three  Years  in  America,  vol.  iL  p.  440. 


BATHS,  AND  CLEANLINESS.  169 

religions,  the  one  has  been  the  symbol  of  the 
other.  Of  course,  those  who  work  hard  and  per- 
spire copiously,  have  more  need  of  care  in  this 
particular  than  others.  To  the  artisan,  therefore, 
the  bath  is  a  double  advantage,  a  double  luxury. 
All  trades,  however,  are  not  alike.  There  are 
some  in  which  the  operative  cannot  pretend  to  be 
clean,  while  he  is  actually  employed ;  to  attempt 
it  would  be  affectation  ;  but  there  is  the  more  rea- 
son why  he  should  enjoy  the  feeling  of  perfect 
cleanliness  when  work  is  over.  The  watchmaker 
or  the  trimmer  may  be  almost  as  neat  as  a  lady ; 
but  there  are  none  who  are  entirely  exempt  from 
the  need  of  water.  Some  there  are  who  are 
scarcely  aware  of  the  extent  to  which  their  skin 
has  become  clogged  by  the  successive  perspira- 
tions and  depositions  of  years.  They  might  form 
some  idea  of  the  fact  if  they  should  scrape  the  sur- 
face with  a  dull  knife,  by  which  the  accumulated 
outer  skin  would  come  off  in  a  scurf  of  branny 
powder.  It  is  too  common  with  certain  persons, 
to  wash  only  for  the  public,  and  to  cleanse  only 
what  is  visible. 

If  we  were  brought  up  in  proper  notions  on  this 
subject,  and  knew  when  we  were  comfortable, 
we  should  feel  as  much  necessity  for  water  to  our 
bodies  as  to  our  faces  ;  and  a  bathing-house,  or  at 
least  a  bathing-tub,  would  be  as  indispensable  as 
a  wash-basin.  An  eminent  German  physician, 
Hufeland,  tells  us,  that  "every  Sunday  evening 
people  formerly  went  in  procession  through  the 
15 


170  THE    WORKING-MAN. 

Streets,  beating  on  basins,  to  remind  the  labourer* 
of  bathing ;  and  the  tradesman,  who  laboured  at 
dirty  work,  washed  off,  in  the  bath,  that  dirt, 
which  now  adheres  to  him  during  a  long  life." 
Only  he  who  has  made  the  experiment  can  know 
how  delicious  is  the  feeling  produced  by  a  tho- 
"rough  warm  ablution,  after  a  day  of  heat  and  exer- 
tion. "  To  wash  one's  self,"  says  one  of  our 
own  eminent  medical  authorities,  "  ought  to  have 
a  much  more  extended  meaning  than  people  gene- 
rally attach  to  the  words.  It  should  not  consist 
merely  in  washing  the  hands,  and  rubbing  a  wet 
towel  over  the  face,  and  sometimes  the  neck ;  the 
ablution  ought  to  extend  over  the  entire  surface^ 
and  it  is  particularly  necessary  where  often  least 
thought  of,  as  at  the  bends  of  the  limbs,  &c.  In 
a  tepid  bath,  with  the  aid  of  a  little  soap  and  a 
sponge,  or  brush,  the  process  may  be  completely 
performed — with  a  feeling  of  comfort  at  the  mo- 
ment, and  of  much  pleasure  afterwards."* 

If  bathing  affords  so  much  comfort,  it  conduces 
not  less  to  health.  No  man  can  be  in  health 
whose  skin  is  out  of  order.  This  is  beginning 
to  be  acknowledged  by  all  who  think  and  write 
upon  the  human  system.  It  is  the  skin  which  is 
the  seat  of  perspiration,  of  which  about  thirty- 
three  ounces  pass  through  every  twenty-four 
hours ;  even  when  there  is  no   visible  moisture 

•  Dr.  John  Bell,  on  Baths  and  Mineral  Waters;  a  learned 
and  judicious  work,  to  which  I  am  indebted  for  most  that 
is  valuable  in  this  essay. 


BATHS   AND   CLEANLINESS.  171 

on  the  surface.  The  skin  is  the  regulator  of  ani- 
mal heat;  it  is  a  great  absorbent,  and  takes  in 
again  much  of  the  corrupt  matter  left  in  contact 
with  it  by  want  of  cleanliness.  It  is  in  close  con- 
nexion with  almost  every  important  function  of 
the  system.  A  glance  at  these  facts  will  show 
that  it  requires  daily  attention.  But  some  will  be 
surprised  to  learn  further,  that  this  wonderful 
covering  has  other  no  less  important  offices.  It 
not  only  lets  out  liquid,  but  it  takes  in  airs,  as 
well  as  watery  vapour :  so  that  it  may  almost  be 
said  to  play  the  part  of  the  lungs,  by  secreting  and 
absorbing  the  same  gases.  In  some  animals,  in- 
deed, as  in  the  leech,  all  the  breathing  is  done  by 
the  skin,  and  you  may  kill  a  frog  as  effectually  by 
varnishing  him  all  over,  as  by  tearing  out  his 
lungs.  The  filthy  covering  of  an  unwashed  per- 
son is  not  unlike  such  a  varnish,  and  he  who 
never  bathes  labours  under  a  sort  of  half-suffoca- 
tion. The  outer  scurf  which  we  may  scrape 
away  is  a  deposition  from  the  true  or  inner  skin. 
A  good  washing  and  rubbing  softens  this  outer 
skin,  and  makes  it  easy  to  rub  off  the  dead  parts 
with  a  brush  or  hard  towel.  In  this  respect,  all 
baths,  of  whatever  temperature,  are  useful.  The 
surface  is  cleansed  and  freed  from  obstructions, 
and  a  way  is  cleared  for  the  passage  of  the  proper 
fluids  and  gases.  On  a  subject  so  important,  I 
trust  these  little  details  will  not  be  thought  either 
dry  or  unnecessary. 

The  cold  bath  is  the  most  natural,  and  the  most 


l?t&  THE    WORKING-MAN. 

eaisily  taken,  but  it  is  not  always  proper  or  safe. 
There  are  some  I  know  who  recommend  it  indis- 
criminately to  all  persons,  at  all  seasons ;  but 
such  is  not  the  counsel  of  wise  physicians.  "  In 
proportion,"  says  Dr.  Combe,  "  as  cold  bathing 
is  influential  in  the  restoration  of  health  when 
judiciously  used,  it  is  hurtful  when  resorted  to 
without  discrimination."  "  Many  persons,"  says 
Dr.  Bell,  "  in  even  vigorous  health,  cannot  tolerate 
^he  cold  bath  for  the  shortest  period,  still  less  can 
they  habitually  use  it  with  benefit.  Even  they 
who  have  accustomed  themselves  to  it  are  in  dan- 
ger from  the  practice,  if  it  be  continued  after  any 
gudden  diminution  of  vital  energy,  by  whatever 
cause  produced."  The  same  learned  author  re- 
jects the  vulgar  notion  ihat  cold  bathing  is  either 
a  tonic  or  a  stimulant,  and  teaches  us,  that  what 
som&  are  pleased  to  consider  a  reaction  after  the 
application  of  cold,  is  no  such  thing,  and  that  the 
skin  is  not  actually  warmer  at  this  time  than 
before.  He  therefore  comes  to  the  same  conclu- 
sion with  the  great  ancient  Galen,  that  the  cold 
bath  is  proper  for  persons  in  perfect  health,  and 
for  fleshy  ones,  for  the  temperate  and  those  who 
use  due  exercise  ;  that  the  proper  season  for  it  is 
summer,  and  that  one  must  be  gradually  accus- 
tomed to  it.  But  neither  he  nor  the  most  timid 
adviser  would  debar  the  manly  swimmer  from 
plunging  into  the  stream,  or  still  better  from  indulg- 
ing in  that  exquisite  refreshment,  the  dash  of  the 
eurf  upon  the  sea-shore. 


BATHS    AND   CLEANLINESS.  173 

Both  the  eminent  physicians  'whom  I  have 
quoted  recommend  for  habitual  use  the  tepid  or 
warm  bath.  A  temperature  ranging  from  85°  to 
98°  is  named  by  Dr.  Combe.  The  best  rule  is 
to  avoid  the  positive  impressions,  either  of  heat  or 
cold.  The  effect  is  at  once  tranquillizing  and 
invigorating,  in  a  high  degree.  Nothing  can  savour 
more  of  ignorance,  or  be  less  agreeable  to  expe- 
rience, than  the  notion  of  some,  that  the  warm  bath 
is  enfeebling.  From  the  earliest  ages  it  has  been 
the  restorative  of  the  exhausted  traveller,  and  the 
writer  of  these  lines  can  never  forget  its  magical 
effect  after  a  wearisome  journey  of  some  hundreds 
of  miles.  Darwin  reminds  us,  that  the  words 
relaxing  and  bracing,  which  are  generally  used 
in  relation  to  warm  and  cold  baths,  are  mechani- 
cal terms,  properly  applied  to  drums  or  strings ; 
but  are  only  metaphors,  when  applied  to  this  sub- 
ject. After  a  long  day's  work  the  warm  bath  is  a 
thousand-fold  better  than  strong  liquors.  Bruce, 
in  his  travels  in  Abyssinia,  tells  us,  that  when  he 
felt  an  intolerable  inward  heat,  and  was  so  exhaust- 
ed as  to  be  ready  to  faint,  he  was  made  as  fresh 
and  strong  by  a  warm  bath,  as  on  his  rising  in  the 
morning.  "  Some  persons  may  tell  me,"  says  he, 
"  that  the  heat  of  the  bath  must  weaken  and  ener- 
vate, but  I  can  assure  them  that  the  reverse  is  the 
case."  Our  celebrated  countryman,  Count  Rum- 
ford,  once  repaired  to  Harrowgate,  in  a  feeble 
state  of  health.  Such  was  his  fear  of  taking  cold 
from  the  warm  bath,  that  he  used  it  only  once  in 
15* 


174  THE    WORKING-MAN. 

three  days,  for  less  than  fifteen  minutes,  '  and 
always  went  from  it  to  a  warm  bed.  Finding 
this  unprofitable,  he  reversed  his  method,  and 
bathed  every  day,  at  two  o'clock,  for  half  an  hour, 
at  96°  and  97°  of  Fahrenheit,  for  thirty-five  days 
ttfgether.  "  The  salutary  effects  of  this  experi- 
ment," he  adds,  "  were  perfectly  evident  to  all 
those  who  were  present,  and  saw  the  progress  of 
it ;  and  the  advantages  I  received  from  it  have 
been  permanent.  The  good  state  of  health  which 
I  have  since  enjoyed,  I  attribute  to  it  entirely." 
The  same  philosopher  exposes  the  mistake  of 
those  who  avoid  the  warm  bath  for  fear  of  catch- 
ing cold  ;  as,  indeed,  one  has  no  more  occasion  to 
dread  catching  cold  after  having  been  in  a  warm 
bath,  than  from  going  out  of  doors  into  the  air  of 
a  frosty  morning.  '•  There  are  few,"  says  Dr. 
Combe,  "who  do  not  derive  evident  advantage 
from  the  regular  use  of  the  tepid  bath,  and  still 
fewer  who  are  hurt  by  it." 

It  is  one  of  the  great  advantages  of  a  residence 
in  the  city  of  Philadelphia,  that  there  is  not  only 
an  abundant  supply  of  water,  but  that  all  the 
better  class  of  houses  are  provided  with  bathing- 
rooms,  in  which  either  cold  or  warm  baths  may 
be  taken.  And  even  those  who  are  without  these 
conveniences,  may  have  easy  access  to  public 
baths.  Or,  in  the  worst  imaginable  case,  a  tub 
of  warm  water,  a  piece  of  soap,  a  sponge,  and  a 
hard  towel  may  be  found  in  the  house  of  any  man 
who  wishes  to  cleanse  his  person. 


INTEMPERANCE    AND    DISEASE.  175 


XXIX. 

INTEMPERANCE    AND    DISEASE. 

"  Were  it  a  draught  for  Juno  when  she  banquets, 
I  would  not  taste  thy  treasonous  offer ;  none 
But  such  as  are  good  men  can  give  good  things, 
And  that  which  is  not  good,  is  not  delicious 
To  a  well-governed  and  wise  appetite." 

MlLTOS. 

In  looking  over  a  book  upon  the  effects  of 
different  trades  upon  health  and  long  life,*  I  was 
struck  with  the  repeated  statement  that  such  and 
such  occupations  would  be  less  unhealthy,  if  it 
were  not  for  the  liquor  drunk  by  the  workmen. 
This,  thought  I,  is  very  unfair :  why  blame  the 
trade,  when  the  fault  all  lies  in  the  drink  ?  We 
may  lay  it  down  as  a  principle,  that  of  honest 
employments,  there  is  not  one  in  fifty  which  is 
hurtful  to  the  health  of  a  temperate  and  prudent 
man  ;  but  if  men  will  still  be  mad  enough  to 
guzzle  beer  or  whisky,  they  may  destroy  them- 

•  The  Effects  of  the  Principal  Arts,  Trades,  and  Profes- 
sions, and  of  civic  states  and  habits  of  living,  on  Health  and 
Longevity  :  dec  &c.  by  C.  Turner  Thackrah.  Philadelphia, 
1831. 


176  THE    WORKING-MAN. 

selves  amidst  the  most  wholesome  circumstances 
in  the  world. 

The  book  I  spoke  of,  though  small  in  size,  con- 
tains much  information  on  this  important  subject. 
Let  me  advert  to  some  instances  of  the  kind  men- 
tioned above.     Of  coachmen  and  other  drivers^ 
Mr.    Thackrah  says   that  their  exposure  to  the 
weather  is  thought  to  produce  rheumatism  and  in- 
flammation of  the  lungs.     "  I  conceive,  however," 
he  adds,  "that  these  diseases  would  rarely  occur 
to   abstemious   men.     It  is   intemperance   which 
gives  the  susceptibility  to  such  maladies ;  and  it 
is  intemperance  which  produces  much  greater." 
And  here  he  speaks  of  morning-sickness  ;  disease 
of  the   stomach  and  head ;  apoplexy  and  palsy. 
In  regard  to  another  trade,  he  says :  "  Though 
temperate  millwrights  are  healthy,  and  continue 
their  employ  to  a  great  age,  often  even  to  that  of 
sixty,  there  is  another  class,  who  fit  up  the  shafts 
and  wheels,  to  convey  the  power  from  the  steani- 
engine    to  the   machinery,  and  wlio  suffer  from 
their  debauched  habit  of  life.     These  men  earn 
high  wages  ;  take  much  of  that  pernicious  com- 
pound called  ale,  and  sometimes  even  drams  in 
addition,  and  are  moreover  off  work  at  the  pot- 
house two  or  three  days  in  the  week.     Such  men, 
of  course,  are  unhealthy  and  short-lived."     These 
remarks  may  be  applied  to  many  classes  of  ope- 
ratives in  America,  who  receive  high  wages,  and 
are  not  required  to  keep  hours.     For  there  is 
nothing  more  conducive  to  health  and  good  habits 


INTEMPERANCE    AND    DISEASE.  177 

than  for  a  man  to  have  such  employment  and  such 
pay  as  shall  make  it  necessary  for  him  to  be  mo- 
derately engaged  every  day. 

A  master  pocketbook-maker  informed  our  au- 
thor that  several  of  his  people  had  died  from 
consumption.  "  This,  however,"  says  he,  "  I 
should  attribute  not  to  the  employ,  but  to  intem- 
perance." When  blacksmiths  are  ill,  "  the  cause 
is  most  frequently  intemperance."  Of  hatters,  he 
tells  us,  "  they  are  often  intemperate  and  short- 
lived." And  of  brewers,  who  are  commonly  re- 
garded as  patterns  of  portly  strength,  Mr.  Thackrah 
observes  :  "  As  a  body,  they  are  far  from  healthy. 
Under  a  robust  and  often  florid  appearance,  they 
conceal  chronic  disorders  of  the  abdomen,  particu- 
larly a  congested  (overfull)  state  of  the  venous 
system.  When  these  men  are  accidentally  hurt 
or  wounded,  they  are  more  liable  than  other  indi- 
viduals to  severe  and  dangerous  eflfects.  The 
ill-health  of  brewers  is,  however,  evidently 
attributable  to  their  habitual  and  unnecessary 
potation  of  beer." 

After  such  statements  as  these,  we  need  not  be 
surprised  when  this  judicious  medical  man  comes 
to  the  conclusion,  that  intemperance  is  the  grand 
bane  of  civilized  life.  These  observations  were 
made  nearly  twenty  years  ago  in  the  populous 
town  of  Leeds,  and  are  therefore  introduced  here 
in  preference  to  still  stronger  statements  more 
near  to  us  in  time  and  place  ;  as  it  is  common  to 
suspect  the  latter  as  coloured  by  zeal  for  a  popular 


178  THE    WORKING-MAN. 

enterprise.  In  regard  to  mere  health,  then,  it  ap- 
pears, that  intoxicating  drinks  are  unnecessary  and 
noxious.  To  him  who  uses  them,  no  circum- 
stances can  ensure  health  :  to  him  who  abstains, 
even  great  exposure  is  usually  harmless.  The 
first  rule  of  health  to  be  inculcated  on  our 
children,  apprentices,  and  families,  is  to  live 
without  drink. 

Here  is  work  for  masters  and  employers. 
Surely  they  have  an  accountability  in  this  matter 
to  God  and  to  man.  The  apprentice  and  even 
the  journeyman  are,  and  ever  ought  to  be  under 
some  control ;  and  the  more  fully  the  master 
sustains  to  them  the  part  of  a  father,  the  greater 
will  this  control  be.  It  will  be  an  evil  day  for 
our  land  when  either  party  shall  feel  that  this 
bond  is  loosed.  Let  the  household  links  be 
broken,  and  the  political  chain  will  have  no  binding 
force.  If  we  wish  such  a  reformation  as  shall 
make  and  keep  our  rising  race  virtuous  and  happy, 
we  must  begin  at  home,  and  masters  must  take 
some  steps  which  are  now  unpopular.  The  vices 
of  journeymen  fall,  with  part  of  their  burden,  on 
master-workmen.  As  Mr.  Thackrah  very  justly 
says,  the  latter  may  do  much  to  lessen  this  great 
evi)  of  intemperance.  Does  any  one  ask  what 
can  the  master  do  ?  I  reply,  he  can  bring  up  his 
boys  in  good  principles.  He  can  press  upon  them 
the  precepts  of  the  Bible.  He  can  correct  their 
youthful  errors.  He  can  set  them  an  example  of 
rigid  temperance.     He  can  see  that  they  spend 


INTEMPERANCE    AND    DISEASE.  179 

their  evenings  and  their  Sundays  at  home,  in 
reading,  or  in  some  useful  amusements.  He  can 
open  facilities  for  them  to  enjoy  the  advantages 
of  night-schools,  libraries,  Sunday-schools,  Bible- 
classes,  and  lyceums.  Is  it  asked  what  can  he 
do  for  journeymen  ?  I  reply,  some  of  these 
same  things  ;  for  a  man's  being  a  journeyman  does 
not  put  him  beyond  the  reach  of  good  advice  oi 
good  example.  But,  over  and  above  this,  I  adopt 
our  author's  language  :  "  Let  the  master  discharge 
from  his  employ  every  man  who  '  breaks  work  ;' 
nay,  let  him  admonish,  and  afterwards  discharge 
every  man  who  spends  his  evenings  at  the  ale- 
house, or  calls  at  the  dram-shop.  This  is,  in 
fact,  the  great  point :  for  the  evil  is  curable  at  the 
beginning."  I  anticipate  what  will  be  said  about 
the  difference  between  the  state  of  things  here  and 
in  the  old  country  ;  about  the  independence  of  opera- 
tives, and  the  scarcity  of  skilled  labour.  Never- 
theless every  employer,  who  has  patronage,  is 
responsible  to  society  and  to  God  for  the  manner 
in  which  he  employs  it.  He  may  not  lord  it  over 
his  men,  but  he  has  a  right  to  know  how  and 
where  they  spend  their  evenings  ;  for  the  plain 
reason  that  his  own  interests  are  involved  in  it. 
The  inquiry  is  not  always  agreeable  ;  nay,  it  will 
often  give  great  offence  ;  but  what  then  ?  Is  the 
truly  benevolent  man  to  do  nothing  which  is  dis- 
agreeable ?  Of  a  truth,  we  are  not  so  delicate  in 
the  collection  of  a  debt,  or  the  prosecution  of  a 
claim.     These  lions  are  chiefly  in  the  way  of  our 


180  THE    WORKING-MAN. 

benevolent  efforts.  Until  the  law  of  the  land  shall 
render  us  more  effectual  aid,  by  erecting  dykes 
against  this  flood  of  evil,  every  good  man  will  do 
what  he  can  to  keep  it  out  of  his  own  doors. 

The  place  where  health,  fortune,  character,  and 
happiness  are  lost,  is  the  tavern.  In  their  origin, 
public  houses  were  places  for  the  entertainment  of 
the  weary  traveller ;  no  object  could  be  more  be- 
nevolent. But  they  have  become,  by  the  change 
of  times,  chiefly  remarkable  as  dens  of  drunken- 
ness. Take  away  the  bar,  and  in  most  cases  you 
take  away  the  publican's  livelihood.  But  even 
now,  if  taverns  were  frequented  chiefly  by  way- 
faring-men, it  were  well.  But,  far  from  this,  they 
are  sources  of  temptation  and  ruin  to  the  neigh 
bourhood.  Where  must  you  go  to  find  the  black 
leg,  the  drunkard,  and  the  bully  ?  To  the  tavern 
Where  is  the  young  man  who  is  never  in  his  own 
shop,  and  whose  shabby  coat  and  anxious  eye 
betoken  debt  and  danger  ?  In  the  tavern.  Where 
were  the  journeymen  and  apprentices  last  night, 
who  are  this  morning  haggard  and  sallow,  yawn- 
ing and  hiccuping  over  their  work  ?  At  the 
tavern.  I  must  in  justice  say,  that  I  know  inn- 
keepers who  are  temperate,  orderly  men,  and 
good  citizens,  and  who  deplore  this  state  of  things; 
and  I  know  houses  to  which  these  remarks  do  not 
apply ;  but  in  the  greater  number  of  cases,  the 
bar-room  is  the  way  to  destruction  ;  and  to  say 
that  a  man  is  often  seen  hanging  about  the  tavern 
porch,  under  whatever  pretence  of  business,  is  to 


INTEMPERANCE  AND  DISEASE.  181 

say  that  his  work  is  neglected,  his  habits  declining, 
and  his  company  detestable. 

In  these  and  similar  observations,  I  purposely 
avoid  all  mention  of  Temperance  societies  and 
their  pledges,  not  because  I  am  indifferent  to  the 
success  of  their  endeavours,  but  because  I  wish 
to  reach  even  those  who  do  not  admit  the  prin- 
ciple of  these  associations  in  its  full  extent.  The 
sentiments  which  are  here  expressed,  have  been 
entertained  by  thoughtful  men  for  scores  of  years; 
nor  do  I  see  how  they  can  be  rejected  by  any  one 
who  loves  his  country.  Some  of  the  happiest 
changes  I  have  ever  known  have  been  wrought  in 
men  who  have  escaped  the  snare  of  strong  drink. 
Such  a  one  is  Phelps  the  coach-painter.  Time 
was  when  he  thought  his  paint  would  kill  him 
outright,  but  for  his  brandy ;  and  he  could  not 
conceive  how  he  could  be  merry  with  a  couple  of 
friends,  except  over  a  bottle.  He  sang  a  good 
song,  and,  being  a  musician,  used  to  be  the  life  of 
the  tavern  suppers.  Some  of  his  bacchanal 
staves  may  still  be  heard  at  midnight  by  those 
who  pass  by  the  Bull's  Head.  Phelps  had  been 
well  schooled,  and  sometimes  wrote  verses.  But 
his  eyes  became  weak,  and  his  nose  red,  and  the 
palette  began  to  shake  on  his  thumb.  This  did 
not  arouse  him,  until  his  only  son  Ned  was 
brought  home  drunk.  He  had  fondly  imagined 
that  the  boy  had  never  seen  him  drink :  it  is  the 
folly  of  many  a  parent,  who  rears  a  household  of 
drunkards.  That  night  Phelps  broke  every  bottle 
16 


182  THE    WORKING-MAN. 

in  his  cellar.  Last  week  I  dined  with  him,  and 
he  sang  me  the  following  verses  of  his  own 
making,  over  a  goblet  of  excellent  lemonade. 

When  the  glass  sparkles,  and  the  group 

Of  wassail  gathers  there ; 
Though  friends  invite,  though  spirits  droop, 

'Tis  Wisdom  cries,  Bewabe  ! 

Be  it  the  juice  of  tortured  grain 

Which  foaming  tankards  bear, 
Or  distillation  of  sweet-cane, 

'Tis  perilous — Beware  ! 

Or  should  ripe  clusters  pour  a  flood 

Whose  varying  hues  compare 
With  gems,  or  Tyrian  dye,  or  blood, 

'Tis  wine  that  mocks — Bewabe  ! 

But  doubly  fly  that  fiery  stream. 

Forced  by  perverted  care. 
Through  tortuous  pipe,  in  pungent  steam ; 

Those  drops  are  death — Beware  ! 

Howe'er  the  Tempter  drug  his  bowl. 

Or  mix  his  potions  fair, 
Why  shouldst  thou  jeopard  thus  thy  soul  1 

Madness  is  near — Beware  ! 


MONET.  183 

XXX. 

MONEY. 

"  Yet  to  be  just  to  these  poor  men  of  pelf, 
Eacb  does  but  hate  his  neighbour  as  himself: 
Damn'd  to  the  mines,  an  equal  fate  betides 
The  slave  that  digs  it,  and  tlie  slave  that  hides." 

POPK. 

The  good  and  the  evil  of  money  are  the  subject 
of  our  daily  conversation,  and  neither  can  well  be 
represented  as  greater  than  it  is.  The  same  book 
of  wisdom  which  declares  to  us  that  "  money  an- 
swereth  all  things,"  warns  us  that  the  love  of  it  is 
a  "  root  of  all  evil."  We  love  what  costs  us 
pains  ;  our  own  work,  or  the  fruit  of  it ;  our  own 
little  garden  rather  than  our  neighbour's  hot-house. 
It  is,  therefore,  constantly  observed  that  it  is  hard 
to  wring  money  out  of  the  hands  of  one  who  has 
earned  it  by  litde  and  little.  Look  at  the  farmer ; 
even  if  he  owns  thousands  of  acres,  he  is  some- 
times startled  at  a  call  for  the  disbursement  of 
twenty  dollars :  while  the  merchant,  who  gains 
and  loses  by  fifties  and  hundreds,  will  transfer  ten 
thousand  dollars'  worth  of  stock  in  five  minutes. 
Women,  who  seldom — dear  creatures — have  the 
handling  of  large  sums,  are  more  frugal  in  the 
disposition  of  their  means,  than  their  more  hard- 


J 84  THE    WOKKING-MAN. 

hearted  husbands.  Hence  the  great  moralist  avers 
that  mendicants  seldom  beg  of  women.  How- 
ever this  may  be,  it  is  undeniable  that  where 
money  is  hardly  got,  it  is  sure  to  be  prized  suffi- 
ciently. Let  a  man  work  hard  for  his  dollar  and 
he  will  be  in  danger  of  setting  too  high  a  value 
upon  it ;  and  thus,  by  imperceptible  degrees,  fru- 
gality grows  into  avarice  and  thrift  into  meanness. 

It  is  not  the  mere  coin,  the  material  gold,  silver, 
copper,  and  alloy  that  we  love ;  at  least  in  the 
outset.  The  miser,  who  is  a  possessed  man,  may 
transfer  his  regards  to  the  sign  from  the  thing  sig- 
nified, and  gloat  over  dollars  and  doubloons  ;  but 
what  the  most  love  is  what  the  money  will  bring. 
To  use  a  large  word,  it  is  the  potentiality  of  hap- 
piness. We  turn  every  thing  into  money.  We 
measure  every  thing  by  money.  It  is  money 
which  marks  the  injury  done  by  a  slander  or  a 
blow.  As  we  measure  the  force  of  an  engine  by 
horse-power,  so  we  measure  an  honourable  office 
by  dollars.  Men  value  their  lives  at  certain  sums, 
and  persons  could  be  found  who  would  be  bribed 
to  run  the  risk  of  being  bit  by  a  mad  dog.  In 
consequence  of  this  universal  applicability  of 
money  as  the  measure  of  value,  it  comes  to  stand 
for  the  things  which  it  measures.  We  look  with 
complacency  on  the  key  which  unlocks  our  trea- 
sures ;  and  gaze  on  a  dirty  bank-note,  which  is 
only  a  rag. 

In  Pitcaim's  island,  at  the  latest  accounts,  there 
was  no  money,  nor  any  need  of  it.    But  does  it 


MONET.  185 

foDow  that  there  can  be  no  avarice  there  ?  I  think 
not.  The  passion  may  look  beyond  the  medium 
to  the  end  in  view,  but  it  is  still  the  same.  The 
dislike  to  part  with  our  cash,  when  reduced  to  its 
principles,  is  a  mode  of  selfishness.  It  is  only 
one  aspect  of  our  love  of  the  things  which  money 
will  buy.  If  any  man  would  guaranty  to  us  all 
these  things  for  life,  we  would  freely  give  him  the 
money.  Hence  the  moral  evils  of  avarice.  But 
for  this  the  love  of  gold  would  be  as  innocent  as 
the  love  of  roses  and  lilies. 

But  even  on  the  selfish  principle,  I  have  some- 
times thought  that  a  more  refined  and  profound 
view  of  the  matter  would  loosen  our  hold  on  the 
purse.  By  pinching  hard  we  hurt  nobody  but 
ourselves.  Every  one  sees  that  if  a  man  spends 
none  of  his  money,  he  is  wretched ;  hence  the 
name  miser,  which  is  only  the  Latin  for  a  wretch. 
But  many  make  it  the  business  of  their  lives  to 
come  as  near  this  as  they  can.  They  sail  as  near 
the  wind  as  is  possible.  Sound  economy  will  teach 
a  man  that  a  liberal  outlay  of  money  is  in  some 
cases  no  more  a  loss,  than  a  liberal  sowing  of 
wheat.  Stolido  has  adopted  the  saving  maxim 
never  to  cut  the  packthread  of  a  parcel,  but  al- 
ways to  untie  it :  he  therefore  fumbles  at  a  hard 
knot  for  ten  minutes,  in  which  he  could  have 
earned  the  worth  of  ten  such  packthreads.  Basso 
grudges  sixpence  for  a  dose  of  physic,  and  in  the 
end  loses  six  weeks.  We  all  agree  that  time  is 
money.  Why  so?  Because  time  will  procure 
16* 


186  THE    WORKING-MAN. 

US  money,  or,  what  is  the  same,  money's  worth. 
But  we  are  not  so  ready  to  admit,  though  it  is 
equally  true,  that  health  is  money — that  temper- 
ance is  money — that  good  habits  are  money— 
that  character  is  money.  Nay,  I  go  further  than 
this  :  if  we  must  value  every  thing  by  this  merce- 
nary standard,  then  I  say,  ease  is  money,  because 
it  is  worth  money,  and  we  labour  all  our  life  to 
earn  it.  Comfort  is  money,  and  happiness  is 
money. 

These  remarks  are  certainly  not  intended  to 
foster  the  disposition  to  estimate  every  thing  by 
pounds,  shillings,  and  pence.  God  forbid !  Our 
money-making  nation  needs  no  spur  in  their  race : 
we  are  already  pointed  at  by  the  finger  of  nations. 
But  as  the  world's  ready  reckoners  insist  on 
gauging  human  bliss  by  this  rule,  I  wish  to  show 
that  on  their  own  principles  a  man  may  be  too 
saving.  Even  the  rule  of  the  usurer  in  the  old 
play,*  which  was  short  enough  to  be  engraven  on 
his  ring,  and  which  is  engraven  on  many  a  heart, 
T'u  tibi  cura,  "  Take  care  of  number  one,"  is 
often  violated  by  unwise  parsimony.  We  may  be 
sparing  to  our  damage.  There  are  better  things 
than  money.  O  that  I  could  ring  it  through  every 
shop,  factory,  and  counting-house  of  my  country  ! 
There  is  good  which  gold  cannot  buy,  and  which 
to  barter  for  gold  were  ruin.  It  cannot  buy  the 
kindly  affections  of  the  fireside.     It  cannot  buy 

•  The  «  Groat's  Worth  of  Wit,"  by  Robert  Green. 


MONET.  187 

the  blessings  of  friendship.  It  cannot  buy  the 
serene  comforts  of  virtue,  the  quiet  of  conscience, 
the  joys  of  religion.  This  lesson  should  be  in- 
culcated on  the  young.  It  is  idle  to  fear  that  such 
a  lesson  will  make  them  careless  or  profuse.  It 
is  a  lesson  opposed,  not  to  frugality,  but  to  parsi- 
mony. Those  who  learn  it  will  not  hoard,  but 
neither  will  they  squander.  They  will  look  on 
money,  not  as  an  ultimate  good,  but  as  the  repre- 
sentative of  purchasable  advantages ;  and  they 
will  count  it  as  nothing  when  put  in  the  opposite 
scale  to  moral  and  eternal  things,  which  are  above 
all  price. 


188  THE    WORKING-MAN. 


XXXI. 

RISKS    AND    SPECULATIONS. 

"  Neither  a  borrower  nor  a  lender  be ; 
For  loan  oft  loses  both  itself  and  friend, 
And  borrowing  dulls  the  edge  of  husbandry." 

Hamlet. 

Of  all  the  ways  of  making  money,  that  which 
belongs  to  a  man's  proper  "trade  or  business  is  the 
safest,  easiest,  and  most  honest.  He  who  would, 
even  in  a  worldly  sense,  prosper,  must  let  many 
gay  chances  of  wealth  flit  before  him,  without 
drawing  him  from  his  daily  work.  This,  how- 
ever, is  very  much  against  the  spirit  of  the  age. 
To  become  rich  by  sudden  leaps  is  more  attrac- 
tive than  to  plod  on  for  years  with  scarcely  per- 
ceptible gains.  Yet  the  truly  solid  men  are  those 
who  have  pursued  the  latter  course.  It  is  not  too 
much  to  say,  that  at  the  time  of  this  present  writ- 
ing, there  arc  a  thousand  mechanics,  manufacturers, 
and  small  tradesmen,  who  are  trying  to  become 
rich  by  what  they  call  speculation.  Some,  in  a 
low  sphere,  deal  in  horses.  Though  this  is  not 
their  trade,  they  are  perpetually  driving  some 
bargain,  or  making  some  match,  or  showing  off 
the  paces  of  some  famous  roadster.     It  becomes 


RISKS    AND    SPECULATIONS.  189 

a  passion,  business  is  neglected  ;  and,  so  far 
as  my  observation  goes,  horse-dealers  do  not 
always  maintain  the  purest  character  for  straight- 
forward conduct.  Some  are,  or  were,  very  full 
of  buying  and  selling  lots  about  our  growing 
towns  and  cities.  Others  are  all  for  granite-quar- 
ries. While  many  behold  visions  of  untold 
wealth  in  the  silk  business,  and  forsake  their  own 
calling,  to  plant  acres  of  the  Chinese  mulberry. 
One  in  fifty  of  these  draws  a  prize ;  the  rest, 
after  some  months  of  suspense,  sit  down  with 
blanks,  and  find  their  proper  business  near  to  ruin. 

These  hopes  commonly  lead  to  expensive 
habits,  unknown  to  the  artisans  of  former  days. 
Hence,  my  friend  Mrs.  Bates  used  often  to  re- 
mind her  son  Arthur  of  his  father's  frugality. 
"  Dear  mother,"  cried  Arthur,  on  one  of  these 
occasions,  with  a  face  of  great  vexation,  "  pray, 
pray,  don't  quote  my  good  father  any  more.  The 
next  thing  will  be  to  rig  me  out  in  his  white 
neckcloth  and  small-clothes." 

"  Arthur,"  said  the  old  lady,  with  tears  in  her 
eyes,  "  the  image  which  has  been  before  my  mind 
for  forty  years,  will  sometimes  be  in  your  way ; 
but  bear  with  me,  and  I  will  not  say  any  more 
about  your  father." 

"  Say  what  you  please,"  said  the  relenting  son. 

"  All  I  have  to  say  is  this  :  you  know  that  your 
father  was  a  thriving  mechanic — he  had  no  ambi- 
tion to  be  more — he  became  wealthy,  as  you 
might  now  have  been,  but  for  the  rash  adventure 


190  THE    WORKING-MAN. 

of  your  two  uncles,  in  1815,  which  swept  away 
our  property.  When  your  father  began  life,  how- 
ever, as  you  are  now  doing,  he  was  frugal  and 
domestic ;  he  stuck  to  his  trade ;  and  after  his 
great  reverse,  he  returned  to  the  habits  of  his 
youth.  His  maxim  was.  Waste  nothing — risk 
nothing — borrow  nothing." 

"  Exactly,  and  had  he  lived  to  this  day,  he 
would  have  felt,  as  I  feel,  the  change  of  times, 
and  would  think  as  little  of  owing  five  hundred 
dollars,  as  he  did  of  borrowing  a  pinch  of 
snuff." 

"  Arthur,"  said  the  good  old  woman,  smiling 
with  the  consciousness  of  experience,  "  the 
maxims  of  economy  do  not  change  with  the 
fashions.     They  go  by  the  nature  of  things." 

*'  Surely,  madam,  money  is  not  now  what 
money  was  before  the  Revolution  !" 

"  Perhaps  not,  in  a  certain  sense ;  but,  as  the 
shopkeepers  say,  money  is  money.  Bread,  and 
clothes,  and  fuel,  are  not  got  for  nothing.  You 
talk  of  credit:  credit  implies  borrowing;  and 
borrowing  implies  paying.  Creditors  are  made 
of  no  milder  stuff  than  when  I  was  a  girl ;  and, 
for  all  that  I  can  see,  a  cistern  that  is  always  run- 
ning and  never  receiving  is  as  like  to  run  dry  as 
any  cistern  of  the  olden  time.  To  be  plain — 
what  was  the  occasion  of  your  haste  in  visiting 
New  York,  yesterday  ?" 

"  Then,  to  answer  plainly,  in  my  turn, — though 
I  am  sure  you  are  going  to  misunderstand  it,— it 


RISKS   AND    SPECULATIONS.  191 

was  to  see  several  of  my  friends  in  William 
street." 

"  Ah  !  and  why  so  anxious  to  see  them  at  this, 
the  busiest  season  of  your  trade  ?" 

"  You  press  me — but  I  will  be  frank — it  was  to 
get  a  lift  in  the  pecuniary  way — common  thing— 
to  meet  an  arrangement — a  mere  trifle — a  name 
or  two  was  all  I  wanted — a-hem — a  little  mat- 
ter in " 

"  In  bank,  you  would  say,  my  son.  Speak  it  out. 
I  understand  you.  Now  consider ;  what  change 
has  come  over  the  plain  old-fashioned  business  of 
coach-making,  that  you  should  need  to  be  a  bor- 
rower? Let  an  old  woman  tell  your  fortune— 
your  intimacy  with  banks  will  end  in  your  being 
a  bankrupt." 

With  a  blush  and  a  sneer,  Arthur  went  to  his 
drying-room,  then  to  his  trimming-room,  then  to 
his  counting-room,  and  then  to  the  open  air ;  but 
nowhere  could  he  fix  his  attention.  He  had  be- 
come a  borrower.  He  kept  his  horses  and  his 
dogs,  and  gave  dinners,  and  went  to  the  springs. 
To  meet  this  expense,  he  had  several  little  specu- 
lations, added  to  his  regular  trade.  Instead  of 
straitening  his  expenses  to  suit  his  means,  he 
plunged  into  new  indulgences  ;  and  to  meet  their 
cost,  he  drew  upon  future  and  unreal  gains.  In 
America,  perhaps,  more  than  elsewhere,  it  is  very 
common  to  find  mechanics,  and  even  professional 
and  salaried  men,  falling  into  embarrassments,  to 
which  formerly  only  mercantile  adventurers  were 


192  THE    WORKING-MAN. 

thought  liable.  How  can  a  young  man  sit  down 
at  his  desk,  or  examine  his  books,  when  every 
paper  and  almost  every  knock  remind  him  that 
he  is  in  debt  ?  Arthur  Bates  was  oftener  in  the 
street,  than  in  his  shop ;  and  every  part  of  his 
proper  business  became  distasteful  to  him.  He 
was  often  seen  in  the  humbling  situation  of  a  vex- 
atious supplicant  at  the  doors  of  men  who  were 
far  below  him  in  every  scale  but  that  of  dollars 
and  cents.  He  who  becomes  a  borrower  cannot 
foretell  at  what  point  of  the  descent  he  will  stop. 
From  a  custom  it  grows  into  a  habit.  The  first 
plunge  is  the  most  revolting ;  after  that,  the 
smooth  lapse  becomes  smoother  with  each  suc- 
cessive yielding. 

Borrowing  became  so  easy  with  Arthur,  that 
he  began  to  scribble  on  his  waste  papers  the 
goodly  proverbs,  "  Nothing  venture,  nothing 
lose,"  and  "  In  for  a  penny,  in  for  a  pound."  To 
one  so  diseased,  no  stimulant  can  be  worse  than  a 
morning  paper :  it  offers  schemes  of  wealth  on 
every  page.  These  have  a  great  charm  for  the 
man  who  feels  that  nothing  but  a  grand  "  opera- 
tion" can  get  him  out  of  the  slough,  and  who,  at 
the  same  time,  reads  of  thousands  realized  on  lots 
at  Brooklyn,  Brighton,  and  Chicago,  or  by  sales 
of  granite  or  mulberries.  True,  these  things  have 
had  their  day  ;  but  so  will  other  things.  In  pro- 
cess of  time,  Arthur  Bates  removed  from  a 
thriving  country  town  to  the  great  metropolis. 
No  one  who  knows  the  world  will  be  surprised  at 


RISKS   AND    SPECULATIONS.  193 

the  change.  It  is  not  long  since  I  could  have 
named  a  round  dozen  of  young  men,  attorneys, 
mechanics,  and  even  doctors,  who  had  closed 
their  shops  and  offices,  and  gone  into  speculation. 
Ajthur  had  entered  the  Alsatia  of  borrowing. 
After  many  fruitless  attempts,  he  despaired  of 
making  his  simple  mother  comprehend  how  a 
man  may  live  and  do  well,  without  any  regular 
business  ;  or  how  these  rapid  turns  of  the  wheel 
differed  from  gambling.  He  descanted  to  her 
upon  the  credit  system,  the  rise  of  property,  the 
diversities  of  script,  and  the  fortunes  made  by 
happy  investments.  He  unrolled  before  her 
without  effect,  lithographic  maps  of  unbuilt  cities 
in  the  West,  or  of  Venices  to  be  conjured  up  in 
the  North  River ;  he  turned  her  into  stone,  witH 
calculations  about  the  sugar  beet  and  the  moras 
multicaulis.  Poor  Mrs.  Bates  was  too  old  to 
mend,  and  read  out  of  her  old  book,  that  the  bor- 
rower is  servant  to  the  lender:*  In  these  de- 
bates Arthur  was  aided  by  a  new  friend  of  his, 
Peleg  Peck,  Esq.  Mr.  Peck  was  a  son  of  the 
house  of  Peck,  Pigeon,  and  Fitch,  in  Pearl  street. 
After  the  usual  time  spent  in  billiards  and  dra- 
matic criticism,  and  after  being  bowed  out  of  his 
father's  counting-house  by  the  elder  partner,  Mr. 
George  W.  Pigeon  of  Providence,  he  opened  a 
livery  stable  at  Brooklyn.  Thence,  by  some  un- 
explained change,  he  became  booking-clerk  in  a 
stage-office  in  Market  street,  Philadelphia,  and  his 
•.Prov.  xxiL  7. 
17 


194  THE    WORKING-MAN. 

last  ostensible  calling  was  that  of  clerk  in  a  Mis- 
sissippi steamboat.  But  he  had  seen  wonders  in 
the  great  West,  and  had  come  back  to  engage 
other  adventurers.  It  was  after  a  dialogue  be- 
tween Mr.  Peck  and  Arthur,  that  the  latter  hastily- 
entered  his  mother's  parlour.  "  Why  so  flurried, 
my  son  ?"  said  Mrs.  Bates,  as  her  son  threw  him- 
self into  an  elbow  chair.  •"  Dearest  mother!  nothing 
uncommon,  I  assure  you.  But  one  who  belongs 
to  the  world  cannot  but  partake  of  its  great  con- 
cussions. The  motions  of  the  great  sea  reach 
even  our  little  creeks." 

"  Pray,  come  down  from  your  stilts,  Arthur : 
you  used  wiser  as  well  as  plainer  talk  when  you 
were  a  well-doing  carriage-maker.  Surely  your 
connexions  with  the  moneyed  world  are  slight." 

"  Ah  !  there  it  is,  again.  Your  notions  are  out 
of  date.  Indeed,  mother,  I  do  not  know  that  you 
have  got  the  least  insight  into  the  great  modern 
system  of  debt  and  credit." 

"  Be  it  so,  my  dear.  Take  a  glass  of  water, 
and  give  me  such  lessons  as  suit  my  simplicity. 
But  observe,  before  you  begin,  that  I  am  not  in 
my  dotage  yet,  and  that  I  have  long  observed  that 
there  is  no  subject  on  which  men  can  talk  longer 
without  ideas,  than  on  this  same  matter  of  credit, 
stocks,  banks,  and  speculation.  But  perhaps  you 
can  trade  in  the  same  way  witliout  capital." 

"  No  jests,  I  entreat. — In  sober  earnestness — 
there  is  a  great  pressure — a  panic,  you  may  say — 
Wall  street  like  the  mouth  of  a  bee-hive  in  June 


RISKS   AND    SPECULATIONS.  195 

—Three  houses  shut  up  this  morning  in  Pearl 
street — and  I  have  every  reason  to  believe  that  the 
fall  of  cotton  has  ruined  Cromwell  and  Zebulons 
of  Mobile,  which  will  drag  down  Grubbs,  Ish- 
raael,  and  Grubbs." 

"  Hold  !  hold !  my  son,  what  has  come  over 
you  !  Panic — Wall  street — Ishmael !  And  what 
concern  can  you  have  with  these  affairs  ?  You 
are  not  a  bank-director,  a  broker,  or  a  Jew." 

"  True,  my  dear  mother — true— but  let  me  ex- 
plain. The  modern  system  is  so  bound — that  is, 
such  is  tlie  concatenation — just  to  think,  tliat  bills 
on  London  are  no  longer — in  a  word,  money  is  so 
scarce. — But  your  old  notions  are  so  queer,  that  I 
shall  seem  ridiculous." 

"  Indeed  you  do,"  said  Mrs.  Bates,  drawing 
herself  up  with  some  sternness.  "  Indeed  you 
do.  This  rigmarole  is  a  mere  screen  for  igno- 
rance— yes,  pardon  a  mother's  plainness — for 
your  ignorance  of  this  complicated  system  of 
licensed  gambling.  Like  too  many,  you  have 
neglected  your  proper  business ;  you  have  tried 
to  retrieve  matters,  by  unwarrantable  means  ;  and 
now,  in  your  embarrassments,  you  are  trying  to 
lay  all  the  blame  on  public  measures,  banks,  and 
brokers.  A  plain  mechanical  business,  as  thrifty 
as  yours  was,  needs  no  such  connexions.  What 
did  your  poor  father  know  of  hanks  ?  Yet  he 
was  worth  his  forty  thousand  dollars,  just  before 
his  two  younger  brothers  decoyed  him  into  a 
share  in  their  liabilities.     Arthur,  I  see  your  des- 


196  THE    WORKING-MAN. 

perate  game.  I  have  seen  it  long.  You  have 
failed  to  grow  rich  by  slow  earnings.  You  have 
borrowed  to  support  your  needless  expenses.  You 
have  filled  one  vessel  from  another,  neither  of 
them  being  your  own.  You  are  now  staking  all 
your  credit  on  these  paltry  speculations.  You 
have  become  a  mere  borrower ;  a  borrower  of 
what  you  can  never  pay." 

I  am  not  writing  a  biography,  and  therefore  it 
wiU  be  enough  to  say,  that  Arthur  Bates  has  for 
two  years  been  clerk  in  the  counting-room  of  the 
establishment  owned  by  his  father;  a  poor  but 
honest  man,  and  deeply  penitent  for  his  follies. 


THE    WORKING-MAN   IN    WANT.  197 


XXXII. 

THE    WORKING-MAN   IN    WANT. 

"  He  that  is  down  needs  fear  no  fall." — ^Bcntah. 

There  is  not,  perhaps,  a  country  in  the 
world  where  the  extremes  of  human  condition  are 
less  frequent  than  in  our  own :  we  are  unac- 
quainted alike  with  princely  wealth  and  abject 
wretchedness.  Yet  even  here  it  is  not  always 
sunshine,  even  with  the  honest,  temperate,  and 
industrious.  As  a  general  rule,  indeed,  any  man 
of  ordinary  health,  strength,  and  capacity,  can 
make  his  living,  if  he  chooses  :  but  there  are  ex- 
ceptions to  the  rule.  It  would  be  as  absurd  as  it 
is  inhuman  to  consider  all  poverty  as  the  result  of 
vice.  The  contrary  is  manifest  every  day.  All 
men  are  fallible  in  judgment,  and  may  fall  into 
wrong  projects.  The  best  plans  may  fail  from 
uncontrollable  circumstances.  The  incapacity  of 
a  partner  or  an  agent,  or  the  fraud  of  a  neighbour, 
or  some  sudden  change  in  the  price  of  an  article, 
in  the  demand  for  a  particular  fabric,  or  even  in 
the  most  trifling  fashion,  is  often  sufficient  to  bring 
to  penury  such  as  have  never  laid  up  any  thing. 
But  the  case  is  so  plain  in  the  eyes  of  all  observing 
17* 


198  THE    WORKING-MAN. 

and  benevolent  men,  that  I  shall  not  dwell  on  this 
point,  but  confine  myself  to  a  few  suggestions  for 
those  who,  by  whatever  path,  have  got  to  the  bot- 
tom of  the  hill. 

My  friend,  let  me  take  you  by  the  hand  :  I  like 
the  pressure  of  a  poor  man's  hand,  and  I  am  not 
one  of  those  Pharisaical  helpers  who  can  see 
nothing  to  pity  where  there  is  any  thing  to  blame. 
It  is  enough  for  me  that  you  are  in  straits  :  I  ask 
not  how  you  came  there.  But,  let  me  whisper- 
it  might  be  well  if  you  would  ask  it  yourself.  Per- 
haps you  have  been  lavish,  when  you  had  abun- 
dance. Perhaps  you  have  been  idle,  or  improvi- 
dent ;  or  your  children  have  been  too  fine,  or  your 
wife  has  haunted  auctions.  Or,  peradventure,  you 
have  been  too  fond  of  a  horse  or  a  gun ;  or  the 
coin  has  found  its  way  from  your  till  into  the  bar- 
room or  the  eating-house ;  or  you  have  been  a 
customer  of  the  brewer,  or  the  tobacconist.  No 
matter — whatever  the  wrong  step  may  have  been, 
the  course  of  wisdom  is  for  you  to  learn  by  expe- 
rience. Dread  the  fire  which  has  scorched  you ; 
perhaps  it  is  the  best  and  the  cheapest  lesson  you 
ever  had.  Now,  when  you  are  cool  and  collected, 
in  the  shades  of  the  valley,  take  a  survey  of  the 
path  which  you  ought  to  have  trodden,  and  make 
up  your  mind  to  choose  and  to  pursue  it. 

Be  sure  not  to  listen  to  the  voice  of  pride. 
This  is  what  barbs  the  arrow  of  poverty.  True, 
if  you  are  in  absolute  want,  and  near  starvation, 
there  will  be  wo  enough  even  without  pride.    But 


THE    WORKING-MAN   IN   WANT.  199 

in  the  great  majority  of  reverses,  the  feeling  of 
mortitication  is  the  worst  part.  If  you  have 
enough  to  support  nature,  and  are  doing  all  that  is 
in  your  power,  banish  the  consideration  of  other 
people's  thoughts,  which  cannot  make  your  case 
either  better  or  worse.  With  a  good  conscience, 
you  may  safely  leave  your  case  to  the  care  of  Pro- 
vidence. 

You  are,  it  is  true,  at  the  foot  of  the  ladder ; 
but  what  then  ?  The  way  up  is  just  the  same  as 
before.  Never  despond ;  this  is  the  grand  rule, 
and  I  repeat  it,  never  despond.  The  most  suc- 
cessful men  have  had  their  reverses.  "  Try 
again,"  is  a  good  motto,  and  your  condition  must 
be  bad  indeed,  if  this  does  not  set  you  right.  At 
any  rate,  brooding  over  losses  cannot  repair  them. 
Your  melancholy  feelings  can  do  you  no  good, 
and  will  do  you  much  harm.  Despondency  strikes 
a  palsy  into  your  arm,  and  cuts  off  all  the  chances 
of  your  recovery.  It  is,  perhaps,  as  great  an 
evil  in  poverty  as  in  sickness.  After  all,  it  is  not 
a  leading  trait  in  the  American  character ;  we  are 
a  sanguine  people,  and,  like  boats  which  easily 
right  themselves,  our  merchants  and  mechanics 
rise  out  of  troubles  with  an  alacrity  which  is  sur- 
prising. Encourage  this  hopeful  temper,  but  let 
it  be  natural.  As  you  value  your  happiness  shun 
all  artificial  comforters.  The  man  who,  in  embar- 
rassment, resorts  to  the  bottle,  or  the  tavern,  may 
be  said  to  be  half  lost.  However  bad  your  con- 
dition may  be,  it  is  not  so  wretched  as  this  will 


200  THE    WORKING-MAN. 

make  you.  If  intoxicating  liquors  are  always 
dangerous,  they  are  a  thousand-fold  so  to  the  man 
who  is  in  straits. 

You  are  embarrassed,  but  not  undone.  Now 
let  me  warn  you  against  suddenly  abandoning 
your  present  business.  In  nine  cases  out  of  ten, 
those  who  leave  the  trade  to  which  they  have  been 
bred,  find  the  change  disastrous.  You  cannot  be 
as  much  at  home  in  any  other  employment,  and 
your  having  failed  in  one  effort  is  no  sign  that  you 
will  fail  in  the  next.  On  the  same  principle  I 
would  say,  beware  of  suddenly  changing  your 
place  of  residence.  This  almost  always  involves 
loss  of  time,  loss  of  money,  and  loss  of  credit. 
Whatever  may  have  brought  you  down,  resolve 
to  retrieve  your  former  standing  in  the  very  place 
where  you  have  lost  it.  That  which  needs  altera- 
tion is  not  your  circumstances,  but  yourself.  Un- 
less you  can  change  this  by  a  removal,  you  had 
better  remain.  There  is,  of  course,  an  exception 
in  those  cases  where  a  man's  business  is  over- 
stocked, where  there  is  no  demand  for  his  labour, 
or  where  there  exist  other  insuperable  obstacles  to 
his  progress. 

Supposing  you,  then,  to  have  come  to  the  wise 
resolve  to  build  on  the  old  foundation,  let  me  give 
you  another  hint :  Do  not  relax  your  exertions  for 
a  moment.  It  is  strange,  but  common,  to  see  men 
making  poverty  an  excuse  for  idleness.  Their 
business  has  failed,  and  accordingly  they  walk 
about  the  streets  for  a  month  with  their  hands  in 


THE    WORKING-MAN   IN    WANT.         201 

their  pockets.  When  the  waterman  finds  that  his 
boat  has  been  carried  by  the  tide  far  below  the 
landing-place,  he  does  not  relax  his  rowing,  and 
yield  himself  to  the  adverse  waves,  but  braces 
every  muscle,  and  pulls  hard  against  the  stream. 
Redouble  your  exertions,  and  you  may  soon  be 
extricated.  Particularly  when  one  is  in  debt,  this 
is  the  best  encouragement  which  he  can  give  his 
creditors  to  allow  him  every  favour.  And  if  it 
has  been  your  misfortune  to  be  involved  in  debt, 
let  me  beseech  you  to  avoid  plunging  any  deeper 
into  this  slough.  Necessity  has  no  law,  but  so 
long  as  you  can  procure  an  honest  mouthful  of 
food,  avoid  this  embarrassment. 

There  are  occasions  on  which,  if  ever,  men  are 
open  to  temptation.  When  want  pinches,  when 
■wife  and  family  cry  for  food,  those  whose  ho- 
nour has  never  wavered  will  sometimes  think 
of  dishonest  resources.  Stifle  the  viper  in  your 
bosom ! 

Last  of  all,  I  say,  do  not  repine.  Discontent 
will  only  imbitter  the  distress  which  it  cannot  re- 
lieve ;  and  it  is  as  wrong  as  it  is  useless  and  inju- 
rious. Be  humble,  patient,  and  resigned  to  the 
arrangements  of  Providence,  and  you  will  not  fail 
to  see  better  days. 


8:02  THE    WORKINft-MAN. 


XXXIII. 

THE    VILLAGE    REVISITED. 

"  I  still  had  hopes,  for  pride  attends  us  still, 
Amidst  the  swains  to  show  my  book-learn'd  skill, 
Around  my  fire  an  evening  group  to  draw, 
And  tell  of  all  I  felt,  and  all  I  saw. 
And  as  a  hare,  whom  hounds  and  horns  pursue, 
Pants  to  the  place  from  whence  at  first  she  flew, 
I  still  had  hopes,  my  long  vexations  past. 
Home  to  return^ — and  die  at  home  at  last." 

Goldsmith. 

After  an  absence  of  many  years  I  lately  re- 
visited the  village  of  Ashford.  This  is  a  small 
inland  place,  in  the  midst  of  farmers,  and  undis- 
tinguished by  manufactures  or  extensive  trade.  Its 
inhabitants  are  chiefly  mechanics  and  store-keep- 
ers.— On  my  entrance,  I  perceived  that  the  place 
had  undergone  fewer  changes  than  is  common  in 
America.  There  was  the  same  long,  straggling 
street,  widening  at  one  place  into  a  green  or  com- 
mon, upon  which  stood  an  unsightly  market-place, 
of  that  red  brick  which  so  disfigures  and  degrades 
the  architectural  prospects  of  our  country.  There 
were  the  same  inns,  and  before  one  of  them  the 
same  creaking  sign  of  an  Indian  Queen,  at  which 
I  used  to  throw  stones  when  I  was  a  boy.     The 


THE    VILLAGE    REVISITED.  203 

principal  tavern  had  been  enlarged,  and  I  was  told 
that  the  present  incumbent  was  the  last  of  six  who 
had  practised  at  that  bar  within  twenty  years.  Be- 
sides those  who  had  been  burned  out,  one  had  been 
hanged,  and  one  had  become  a  reformed  character. 
I  was  sorry  to  see  that  the  other  tavern-keeper  waa 
a  person  who  had  in  former  days  been  a  pro 
raising  saddler.' 

My  attention  was  drawn  forcibly  to  the  place* 
of  the  old  mechanics.  I  looked  for  old  James 
Sorrel,  the  chair-maker  ;  there  was  no  trace  of 
him  or  his.  None  of  his  sons  were  bred  to  his 
trade,  and  those  who  survive  are  in  the  West.  I 
also  looked  for  Mark  Belville,  the  hatter — the 
only  one  of  his  trade  in  those  days.  He  ran 
away  from  his  creditors  fifteen  years  ago.  The 
reason  I  found  it  easy  to  guess  :  his  shop  was 
always  a  rendezvous  for  the  idlers  of  the  whole 
street.  The  little  English  tailor,  who  was  next 
in  the  row,  had  become  too  old  to  work ;  I  was 
told  he  had  become  rich  and  miserly ;  he  had  no 
children,  and,  as  I  remember,  could  not  read.  Ro- 
berts, the  shoemaker,  was  still  visible,  a  gray- 
haired  old  man,  pacing  about  the  street  with  an 
unsteady  step,  his  hands  behind  him.  After  many 
years'  hard  work,  he  has  retired  to  live  with  a 
married  niece ;  his  sons  are  in  Ohio,  except  one 
who  keeps  up  the  trade  in  a  neighbouring  town. 
The  old  man  has  one  serious  calamity  :  he  has  no 
solace  for  his  old  age,  either  of  mind  or  heart.  In 
his  young  days  he  had  but  one  rule,  Be  honest 


204  THE    WORKING-MAN. 

and  industrious.  How  many  think  this  all- 
sufficient  !  He  observed  it ;  he  worked  early 
and  late,  till  his  back  was  bowed  down,  and  his 
eyesight  gone.  He  succeeded — that  is,  he  accu- 
mulated wealth.  In  order  to  do  this,  he  saved 
both  time  and  money.  He  had  no  books  but  an 
almanac,  and  always  voted  at  town-meeting  for 
the  lowest  possible  sum  to  common  schools.  His 
charity  began  at  home  ;  and  he  took  care  to  let  it 
end  there ;  and  resolving  to  be  just  before  he 
should  be  generous,  he  was  all  his  life  practising 
this  first  lesson.  Now,  in  his  old  age,  he  is  wealthy, 
but  wretched.  The  domestic  charm  which  keeps 
some  families  together,  was  unknown  to  him,  and 
he  is  a  solitary  widower ;  though,  if  you  number 
his  children,  the  family  is  large.  I  have  written 
down  in  my  pocket-book,  that  it  will  not  do  for  a 
man  to  make  a  god  of  his  trade ;  and  that,  in  spite 
of  Ben  Franklin,  there  are  other  goods  in  life  than 
popularity  and  thrift.  The  very  next  house  is  oc- 
cupied by  two  young  brokers,  partners,  who  are 
playing  the  very  same  game.  A  new  race  of 
loungers  appeared  in  the  streets,  but  in  no  respect 
inferior  to  those  who  had  been  before  them,  having 
the  same  airs,  and  very  much  the  same  haunts. 
It  is  a  class  which  propagates  itself  with  remark- 
able ease,  and  there  are  few  country  towns  in 
which  there  may  not  be  found  abundant  speci- 
mens. The  spots  once  occupied  by  the  shops  of 
two  bakers,  I  was  pleased  to  see  covered  with 
beautiful  pleasure-grounds,  and  embellished  with 


THE   VILLAGE    REVISITED.  205 

two  mansions  a  good  deal  superior  to  any  thing  in 
Ashford.  I  knew  their  occupants  well.  They 
were  dutiful  boys,  and  public-spirited  men.  The 
time  and  money,  which  at  intervals  they  bestowed 
upon  objects  of  common  interest,  have  been  amply 
made  up  to  them  by  increase  of  credit  and  re- 
spectability. Benevolence  is  good  policy.  By 
doing  good  they  are  more  known,  and  more  re- 
vered. The  chief  difficulty  is  for  them  to  decline 
offices  of  trust ;  and  they  are  already  concerned  in 
the  administration  and  settlement  of  more  estates 
than  any  of  their  fellow-townsmen. — Though  not 
related,  they  have  always  been  good  friends  ;  and 
I  am  told  they  are  about  to  join  in  erecting,  chiefly 
at  their  own  expense,  a  Lyceum,  or  building  for 
public  lectures  and  philosophical  experiments. 
They  furnish  a  happy  example  of  that  healthful 
popularity  which  may  be  attained  without  an 
undue  meddling  with  party  politics. 

By  this  I  am  reminded  of  Oliver  Crabbe,  the 
tallow-chandler.  One  would  have  supposed  that 
Oliver's  business  might  have  occupied  all  his 
hours,  but  he  found  time  to  spend  upon  the  affairs 
of  the  public.  He  was  oftener  in  his  front  shop 
than  in  his  dipping-room,  because  his  front  shop 
was  a  sort  of  news-room.  There,  upon  bench 
and  counter,  at  almost  any  hour,  might  be  seen 
the  sage  quidnuncs  of  the  town.  It  was  the  vil- 
lage exchange.  In  spite  of  odours  "  not  of  am- 
ber," that  door  seemed  to  attract  to  itself  perpetual 
groups,  which  might  be  likened  to  the  clusters  at 
18 


206  THE    WORKING-MAN. 

the  aperture  of  a  bee-hive.  Here  the  newspapers 
were  read,  and  the  public  business  settled.  As 
you  might  expect,  Oliver  was  chief  speaker  ;  he 
loved  to  hear  himself  talk,  which  I  have  observed 
to  be  the  grand  inducement  to  mingle  in  politics. 
There  was  no  meeting  of  the  party  to  which  he 
belonged,  at  which  he  did  not  find  it  easy  to  at- 
tend, whatever  might  be  the  state  of  his  business. 
At  town  meetings,  his  voice  was  lifted  up,  and 
when  he  passed  between  the  tellers,  he  was 
usually  followed  by  a  retinue  of  humble  political 
admirers.  I  am  not  sure  that  he  did  not  some- 
times dream  of  higher  honours,  for  I  have  heard 
him  rallied  about  a  sheet  of  paper,  on  which  he 
had  practised,  in  a  fine  flourishing  hand,  the  mys- 
terious words,  Pub.  Doc.  Free  Oliver  Crabbe. 
Oliver  has  been  in  the  poor-house  for  five  years. 

The  grave-yard  of  the  little  village  gave  evident 
tokens  that  almost  a  generation  had  passed  away. 
In  walking  among  the  green  mounds,  and  marble 
memorials,  I  could  not  but  observe  that  a  large 
proportion  of  those  who  lay  there  had  by  no  means 
arrived  at  extreme  age.  Another  reflection  which 
forced  itself  on  me  was,  that  the  epitaphs  never 
told  the  whole  truth.  The  young  man  who  ac- 
companied me  seemed  very  sensible  of  this.  I 
would,  for  instance,  read  aloud  from  a  headstone 
the  pretty  verses  commemorative  of  some  spotless 
youth,  and  my  guide  would  say,  "  He  died  of 
drink."  Of  another,  equally  celebrated  over  his 
grave,   he  would  observe :   ♦'  This  man   was   a 


THE    VILLAGE    REVISITED.  207 

drunkard."  Indeed,  I  shudder  to  think  how 
many  whom  I  once  knew  among  the  working 
classes  of  this  place,  have  been  brought  to  their 
grave,  either  directly  or  indirectly,  by  strong  drink. 
As  I  sauntered  about  the  streets  and  neighbouring 
lanes,  I  would  occasionally  stumble  on  one  and 
another  of  the  few  surviving  topers,  who  seem  to 
be  left  as  warnings  by  Providence,  like  the  black- 
ened pine-trunks  after  a  forest-burning.  It  is  re- 
markable that  when  you  find  an  aged  drunkard, 
you  commonly  find  that  he  did  not  begin  very 
early,  and  also  that  he  has  murdered  several  child- 
ren by  his  example,  and  sent  them  before  him  into 
eternity. 

But  my  reflections  must  draw  to  a  close.  Look- 
ing at  the  town  as  a  whole,  I  see  some  increase, 
and  some  improvement ;  but,  in  the  midst  of  this, 
too  great  a  disposition  to  be  still  and  do  nothing. 
//  will  do  for  the  present,  is  a  ruinous  motto.  It 
has  led  Dick  Harlow  to  leave  an  old  post-and-rail 
fence  in  front  of  his  house  and  shop,  until  he  has 
grown  to  be  an  old  man.  It  has  allowed  an  old 
ruinous  well-curb  to  disgrace  the  garden  of  Jones, 
the  wheelwright,  ever  since  he  was  a  boy.  It  has 
kept  half  a  dozen  little  door-yards  without  a  single 
improvement,  when  they  might,  every  one  of 
them,  have  been,  this  fine  April  morning,  full  of 
hyacinths,  crocuses,  violets,  and  moss-pinks.  And, 
to  speak  of  more  public  concerns,  this  same  motto 
might  be  inscribed  over  the  shabby  town-house, 


208  THK    WORKING-MAN. 

shadeless  streets,  and  filthy  horse-pond,  which  con- 
tinue to  be  nuisances  of  the  village  of  Ashford. 

After  all,  there  are  a  score  or  two  of  honest, 
healthy,  happy  artisans,  who  are  thriving  in  their 
business,  and  bringing  up  their  households  in  vir- 
tuous habits.  There  are  two  good  schools,  and  a 
new  church ;  a  debating  society,  and  a  musical 
club  ;  a  reading-room  and  a  lyceum  ;  and  at  any 
moment  at  which  the  body  of  the  people  shall 
agree  to  abandon  their  sleepy  motto,  there  will  be 
a  hundred  more  good  things  to  recount. 


THE   CONTENTED   WORKING-MAN.      209 


XXXIV. 

THE    CONTENTED    WORKING-MAN. 

"I  love  to  hear  of  those,  who,  not  contendmg 
Nor  summon'd  to  contend  for  virtue's  prize, 
Miss  not  the  humbler  good  at  which  they  aim ; 
Blest  with  a  kindly  faculty  to  blunt 
The  edge  of  adverse  circumstance,  and  turn 
Into  their  contraries  the  petty  plagues 
And  hinderances  with  which  they  stand  beset." 

WoHDS  WORTH. 

In  our  earliest  story-books,  and  in  the  copies 
set  for  us  by  our  writing-masters,  we  all  learned 
the  value  of  contentment.  But  in  real  life,  it  is 
remarkable  how  little  this  excellent  means  of  hap- 
piness is  cultivated.  The  other  evening,  as  I  sat 
under  my  willow  with  Uncle  Benjamin  and  Mr. 
Appletree,  the  question  arose  whether  men  were 
made  unhappy  more  by  their  own  fault,  or  the 
fault  of  others.  The  good  schoolmaster  gave  it 
as  his  opinion,  that  in  our  country  most  men  might 
be  happy  if  they  would.  "I  except,"  said  he, 
'•^leases  of  signal  calamity ;  but  as  Virgil  says  of 
the  farmers,  I  say  of  most  of  my  neighbours,  '  O 
too  happy  men !  if  ye  only  knew  your  own  ad- 
vantages !'  " 

Here  I  ventured  to  put  in  my  oar,  by  saying, 
18* 


210  THE    WORKING-MAN. 

what,  perhaps,  may  not  be  new  to  the  reader, 
that  there  are  few  men  who  do  not  wish  for  some- 
thing which  they  have  not.  *'  Yes,"  said  uncle 
Benjamin,  "  according  to  the  old  saying,  '  Enough 
means  a  little  more.'  Every  man  wants  to  reach 
a  higher  peak  of  the  mountain  before  he  sits  down, 
when  he  might  as  well  sit  down  where  he  is." 
"  You  remind  me  of  Plutarch,  uncle  Benjamin," 
said  the  schoolmaster.  "  In  his  life  of  Pyrrhus, 
he  relates  that  this  monarch  was  once  talking  with 
Cineas,  a  favourite  orator  and  counsellor,  about 
the  plan  of  his  future  conquests.  First,  he  meant 
to  conquer  the  Romans.  Then  he  would  extend 
his  power  over  all  Italy.  Then  he  would  pass  to 
Sicily,  to  Lybia,  to  Carthage.  '  But  when  we 
have  conquered  all,'  asked  Cineas,  '  what  are  we 
to  do  then  V  '  Why,  then,  my  friend,'  said  Pyr- 
rhus, laughing,  '  we  will  take  our  ease,  and  drink 
and  be  merry.'  '  But  why,'  said  Cineas,  ♦  can 
we  not  sit  down  and  do  that  just  as  well  now  ?' 
The  same  may  be  applied  to  smaller  men  than 
Pyrrhus." 

"  Ay,  ay,  you  say  truly,"  said  the  old  man, 
shaking  out  the  ashes,  and  preparing  for  a  fresh 
pipe ;  "  you  say  truly.  Few  men  are  wise  in 
time.  They  chase  their  game  so  hotly  that  when 
they  have  nm  it  down  they  can't  enjoy  it.  There 
was  our  neighbour  Gripe :  Mr.  Quill  knew  him 
well.  He  and  I  began  life  together.  Gripe 
started  in  a  small  way,  but  by  everlasting  pains 
made  himself  a  rich  man.     He  had  no  children, 


THE    CONTENTED   W0^KIN6-MAN.      211 

and  few  expenses,  yet  he  always  pressed  on  as  if 
the  constable  was  at  his  heels.  There  was  nO 
repose — there  was  no  relaxation.  Round  and 
round  he  went,  like  a  horse  in  a  mill.  I  often 
urged  him  to  stop.  *  You  have  enough,'  I  would 
say,  '  begin  to  enjoy  it;  why  make  yourself  the 
prey  of  these  vexing  cares  ?'  But  no — he  could 
not  be  content.  At  length  his  wife  died ;  he  was 
left  alone,  rich  but  friendless.  He  gave  up  busi- 
ness, but  it  was  too  late.  His  fireside  had  no 
charms,  and  he  fell  into  a  melancholy  which  was 
soon  followed  by  a  mortal  complaint.  So  he  died 
without  having  ever  known  what  it  was  to  sit  down 
and  enjoy  a  moment  of  quiet.  The  whole  of  his 
property  was  scattered  to  the  winds,  by  a  pair  of 
grand-nephews,  his  heirs-at-law." 

"  Nature  requires  but  a  little,"  said  Mr.  Apple- 
tree.  "  We  are  the  slaves  of  our  artificial  wants. 
I  have  accustomed  myself  to  say,  in  looking  at 
many  a  piece  of  luxury,  '  I  can  do  without  it.' 
Even  the  ancient  heathen  had  learned  as  much  as 
this.  Their  philosophers  endeavoured  to  per- 
suade men  to  seek  happiness  by  narrowing  their 
desires,  rather  than  by  increasing  their  gratifica- 
tions. '  He  who  wants  least,'  says  one  of  them, 
'  is  most  like  the  gods,  who  want  nothing.'  " 

"  Those  old  fellows  were  mighty  wise,  I  dare 
say,"  said  uncle  Benjamin;  "but  I  warrant  you 
they  found  it  hard  to  practise  as  they  preached. 
At  the  same  time  no  one  can  deny  the  truth  of 
what  they  affirmed.     And  I, have  often  told  my 


212  THE    WORKING-MAN. 

son  Sammy,  that  nothing  would  be  a  greater  curse 
to  him  than  to  have  all  his  desires  gratified ;  ac- 
cording to  the  old  story  of  the  Three  Wishes. 
On  the  other  hand,  if  a  man  would  but  buckle  his 
desires  within  the  belt  of  his  circumstances,  he 
would  be  happy  in  an  Irish  cabin." 

"  Do  you  think,  uncle  Benjamin,  that  men 
usually  gain  this  sort  of  wisdom  in  proportion  as 
they  rise  in  the  world  ?"  "  No,  no — far  from  it. 
Pampering  does  not  produce  patience.  He  who 
grows  rich  is  only  feeding  a  fever.  Indulgence 
begets  peevishness.  Those  tailors  and  shoe- 
makers, along  our  street,  who  are  just  shutting  up 
for  the  night,  are  happier  than  the  wealthy  sports- 
men and  idlers  over  the  river ;  nay,  they  are  hap- 
pier than  they  will  be  themselves,  when,  like  so 
many  American  mechanics,  they  become  wealthy, 
and  live  in  their  own  great  houses.  I  have  often 
heard  Thrale,  the  rich  brewer,  say  that  he  did 
not  feel  at  home  in  his  own  parlour,  and  that  he 
looked  back  with  regret  to  the  days  when  he  had 
but  three  rooms  in  his  house." 

This  led  me  to  relate  the  story  of  my  cousin 
Barnaby  Cox.  He  was  a  book-binder,  in  a  small 
way,  and  took  a  sweet  little  woman  to  wife,  and 
lived  in  the .  lower  part  of  Second  street.  He 
seemed  as  happy  a  fellow  as  worldly  things  can 
make  any  one ;  he  earned  his  pleasures,  and  he 
enjoyed  them.  He  needed  no  balls,  taverns, 
gaming,  or  theatre  to  enliven  his  evenings.  This 
was  while  he  lived,  as  you  may  say,  from  hand 


THE    CONTENTED    WORKINO-MAN.       213 

to  mouth.  By  some  turn  in  the  wheel,  he  be- 
came prosperous ;  he  formed  new  connexions, 
and  got  into  new  lines  of  business ;  in  short,  he 
became  a  wealthy  man.  But  riches  did  not  make 
him  a  better  man.  He  lives  in  splendour  in 
Chestnut  street ;  but  he  has  gone  down  in  health 
and  cheerfulness.  He  is  restless,  and  listless,  and 
seems  never  to  know  what  to  do  next.  His  great 
house  is  seldom  visited  except  by  a  few  relations, 
and  if  the  truth  could  be  told,  he  sighs  for  the 
evenings  he  used  to  enjoy  when  work  was  done. 

"  The  case  is  not  rare,"  said  Mr.  Appletree ; 
"  but  I  have  one  to  relate,  which,  I  think,  you 
will  allow,  is  really  so.  It  may  be  taken  as  a  fair 
offset  to  Mr.  Quill's.  In  the  neighbourhood 
where  I  was  bred,  there  is  a  man  whom  I  shall 
call  Arator.  He  was  the  son  of  a  wealthy  and 
somewhat  proud  family,  and  fell  heir  to  a  large 
and  well-kept  estate.  There  was  not  a  nobler 
farm  or  mansion  in  the  whole  country-side.  Be- 
ing a  man  of  studious  habits,  and  indolent  and 
melancholy,  he  allowed  his  affairs  to  run  on  rather 
negligently,  and  partly  from  this  cause,  and  partly 
from  the  treachery  of  his  principal  legal  agent,  he 
became  what  the  world  calls  a  ruined  man. 

"  Ruined,  however,  he  was  not.  After  the  first 
shock  of  misfortune,  he  seemed  to  be  awakened 
to  new  energies.  His  indolence  and  his  gloom 
took  leave  of  him.  He  set  about  the  retrieving 
of  his  fortune,  with  an  energy  which  astonished 
those  who  knew  him  best.   True,  he  is  likely  to  be 


214  THE    WORKING-MAN. 

a  poor  man  as  long  as  he  lives,  but  he  is  in  a  faiy 
way  to  pay  his  debts,  and  he  is  cheerful  and  cont- 
tented.  Not  long  since  I  called  upon  him  at  his 
humble  dwelling,  in  the  midst  of  a  little  piece  of 
land  which  he  tills.  He  was  in  his  working 
dress,  and  moist  with  the  labours  of  the  hay-field; 
but  he  received  me  with  a  radiant  smile,  and  ush- 
ering me  into  his  sitting-room,  cried  out,  '  Here, 
Lucy,  is  our  old  friend  Appletree  ;  he  has  not  for- 
gotten the  champagne  and  venison  of  Strawberry 
hill,  nor  have  we :  we  cannot  treat  him  to  any ; 
but  we  can  teach  him,  when  our  children  come  in, 
that  there  is  some  truth  still  in  the  old  stories  about 
cottages  and  contentment.'  And  the  blended  blush 
and  tear  of  his  wife,  with  the  whoop  and  halloo 
of  the  boys  that  just  then  bounded  into  the  room, 
told  me  that,  by  coming  down  in  the  world,  they 
had  risen  in  the  scale  of  true  enjoyment." 


WHO    IS   THE    WORKING-MAN?  215 


XXXV. 

WHO    IS    THE    WORKING-MAN? 

"  Cade.  Dost  thou  use  to  write  thy  name  1  or  hast  thou  a 
mark  to  thyself,  like  an  honest  plain-dealing  man  ? 

Ckrk.  Sir,  I  thank  God,  I  have  been  so  well  brought  up 
that  I  can  write  my  name. 

AIL  He  hath  confessed ;  away  with  him :  he's  a  villain, 
and  a  traitor. 

Cade.  Away  with  him,  I  say ;  hang  him  with  his  pen 
and  inkhorn  about  his  neck." 

Second  Part  of  King  Henry  F2. 

In  using  the  title  working-man,  I  have  merely 
availed  myself  of  a  phrase  which  is  commonly 
understood.  As  usually  employed,  it  designates 
the  artisan,  the  mechanic,  the  operative,  or  the 
labourer;  all,  in  a  word,  who  work  with  their 
hands.  But  I  trust  no  reader  of  these  pages  will  so 
far  misunderstand  me,  as  to  suppose  that  I  mean 
to  deny  that  there  are  multitudes  of  other  classes, 
who  work,  and  work  hard,  and  whose  honest  in- 
dustry is  as  useful  to  society  as  that  of  the  smith 
or  the  carpenter. 

There  are  many  varieties  of  industry,  and  the 
common  distinction  is  a  just  one  between  head- 
work  and  hand-work.  But  then  the  two  are  so 
intermingled  that  it  is  almost  impossible  to  draw 


216  THE    WORKINO^MAW. 

the  line  between  them.  The  mathematical  instm 
ment  maker  is  as  industrious  and  indispensable  a 
character  as  the  puddler  in  an  iron  foundry ;  but 
the  work  of  the  former  is  chiefly  head-work :  and 
then  what  a  diflference  between  the  bodily  labour 
of  the  two  !  Yet  no  reasonable  person  could  ex- 
clude the  instrument  maker  from  the  number  of 
working-men.  The  nice  operations,  however,  of 
this  workman,  as  also  those  of  the  watchmaker, 
jeweller,  lapidary,  and  engraver,  do  not,  in  a 
strict  sense,  deserve  the  name  of  labour  any  more 
than  that  of  the  man  who  writes  his  six  hours 
daily  in  a  clerk's  office.  Yet  how  many  are  there 
who  would  deny  the  honours  of  industry  to  the 
jaded  clerk,  even  though  his  toils  are  a  thousand- 
fold more  wasting  and  disheartening  than  those  of 
the  mason  or  wheelwright ! 

In  every  great  establishment  both  kinds  of  ser- 
vice are  required,  and  neither  party  should  look 
upon  the  other  with  jealousy  or  disdain.  There 
must,  for  instance,  in  a  great  printing  establish- 
ment, be  men  to  work  the  presses,  and  boys  to- 
see  to  the  rollers ;  and  there  must  be  the  setting 
up  of  the  type  ;  but,  again,  there  must  be  correct- 
ing of  the  proofs,  which  is  purely  head-work. 
There  must  be  keeping  of  accounts,  which  is  of 
the  same  nature,  and  equally  indispensable.  And, 
if  I  may  be  allowed  to  say  a  word  in  behalf  of 
my  own  calling,  there  is  the  poor  author,  but  for 
whom  the  press  would  stand  still ;  and  whose 
labour  is  not  the  least  exhausting  of  the  whole. 


WHO    IS    THE    WOHKING-MAN  ?  217 

Yet  he  is  the  very  one  who,  according  to  some 
of  the  popular  doctrines  of  the  day,  should  be 
denied  the  name  and  credit  of  a  working-man  ! 
In  every  extensive  manufactory,  the  carter,  dray- 
man, or  porter,  is  not  more  necessary  than  the 
clerk  or  book-keeper.  The  conductor  of  a  rail- 
road train,  though  he  does  little  or  nothing  with 
his  hands,  is  as  needful  as  the  brake-man  or  en- 
gineer. The  skilful  director  of  a  cotton-mill,  who 
contrives  and  manages,  is  just  as  necessary  as  the 
operatives.  No  great  building  can  be  erected 
without  previous  drawings ;  the  man  who  plans 
and  executes  these,  has  no  more  labour  than  he 
who  keeps  the  books  ;  and  both  these  are  no  less 
working-men  than  the  stone-sawyer  in  the  marble- 
yard,  or  the  hod-carrier  upon  the  scaffold.  The 
pilot  does  no  hard  labour  on  board  ship,  yet  he  is 
as  important  a  working-man  as  the  hardiest  tar. 
80,  likewise,  in  the  manufacture  of  complicated 
machines,  such  as  steam-engines,  not  a  blow  can 
be  effectually  struck  until  the  chief  engineer  has 
gone  about  his  head-work,  and  made  his  calcula- 
tions :  and  the  sturdy  fellow  who  toils  at  the  anvil, 
or  the  grindstone,  should  not  forget  that  his  em- 
ployer is  tasked  as  severely  and  as  needfully  as 
himself.  There  is  really  such  a  thing  as  head- 
work,  and  it  is  hard  work.  This  is  proved  by 
the  appearance  of  those  who  are  devoted  to  it. 
Clerks,  book-keepers,  accountants,  and  all  writers, 
are  liable  to  suffer  exceedingly  in  point  of  health, 
from  their  con6ned  atmosphere  and  fixed  position. 
19 


218  THE    WORKING-MAN. 

They  are  often  as  much  distressed  by  rest  as  la- 
bouring men  by  motion  ;  the  maintenance  of  one 
posture  injures  them  in  various  ways.  Their 
digestive  organs  soon  give  way,  they  grow  lean 
and  sallow,  and  low-spirited,  and  are  ready  to 
envy  every  wood-sawyer  they  meet.  Surely  it 
is  unjust  to  sneer  at  such  men,  as  drones  in  the 
hive. 

The  concerns  of  life  cannot  be  carried  on  with- 
out a  mixture  of  both  head-work  and  hand-work. 
Strike  out  either  sort  from  any  extensive  establish- 
ment, and  the  work  must  come  to  an  end.  A 
hasty  observer,  on  going  into  a  ship-yard,  and 
seeing  the  bustle,  and  hearing  the  hum  of  business, 
would  be  ready  to  think  that  every  thing  was  done 
by  main  force,  by  the  saw,  hammer,  and  adze. 
But  on  looking  a  little  deeper,  he  would  find  that 
quite  as  important  a  part  of  the  work  is  done  out 
of  sight,  in  the  noiseless  office,  or  model-loft.  He 
would  see  one  man  writing  letters,  or  copying 
them  in  a  book,  another  posting  into  a  leger,  a 
third  drawing  plans,  a  fourth  making  tedious  com- 
putations, and  a  fifth  overseeing  the  whole,  and 
acting  as  head  to  a  hundred  pair  of  hands.  How 
soon  would  our  famous  steam-engines,  which  have 
attracted  admiration  even  in  England,  cease  to  be 
produced,  if  it  were  not  for  the  contriving  heads 
of  our  Stevenses,  Baldwins,  Norrises,  and  Mer- 
ricks !  Can  any  man  deny  that  James  Watt  or 
Sir  Richard  Arkwright  were  working  as  really 
and  as  hard  for  the  common  good,  when  they 


WHO    IS    THE    WOKKING-MAN  ?  219 

were  studying  out  their  great  inventions,  as  if  they 
had  been  filing  brass,  or  casting  iron,  or  turning  a 
lathe  ?  And  was  not  Sir  Humphry  Davy,  in  his 
laboratory,  when  contriving  his  safety-lamp,  as 
truly  working  in  a  useful  vocation  as  the  humblest 
miner  with  his  pick-axe  and  shovel  ?  But  the 
principle  admits  of  much  wider  application,  to 
those,  namely,  who  have  no  immediate  connexion 
with  manual  labour.  I  maintain,  that  every  man 
who  honestly  supports  himself  by  industrious  ap- 
plication to  useful  business  is  a  working-man. 
The  mere  amount  of  motion  or  bodily  labour  does 
not  make  so  great  a  difference.  If  it  did,  we 
might  find  it  hard  to  show  that  there  is  not  a 
wider  step  between  the  coal-heaver  and  the  tailor, 
than  between  the  tailor  and  the  accountant.  Roger 
Sherman  was  first  a  shoemaker,  and  then  a  Coa- 
gressman:  but  he  worked  harder  and  did  more 
good  in  the  latter  than  in  the  former  capacity. 
John  Newton  was  first  a  sailor  and  then  a 
•preacher ;  but  no  one  who  knows  his  history  will 
deny  that  he  was  vastly  more  useful  to  society  in 
his  second  calling.  The  salesman  and  travelling 
agent  are  working-men,  no  less  than  the  manu- 
facturer. The  affairs  of  commerce  require  clerks, 
bankers,  merchants,  calculators,  editors  of  jour- 
nals. Not  less  necessary  are  physicians,  teachers, 
lawyers,  clergymen,  and  judges.  No  man  can 
be  said  to  lead  an  easy  life  who  faithfully  dis- 
charges the  duties  of  any  one  of  these  professions ; 
and  this  would  be  soon  found  to  be  true,  by  any 


220  THE    WORKING-MAN. 

doubter  who  sliould  undertake  to  assume  their 
place  for  a  single  week.  If  knowledge  is  power, 
then  those  who  make  great  acquirements  in 
science  are  contributing  in  the  highest  degree  to 
the  productions  of  human  art.  Many  a  man  can 
do  ten  times  as  much  in  this  way  as  in  any  other. 
The  late  lamented  Judge  Buel,  of  Albany,  whose 
death  has  been  announced  since  this  work  was 
going  through  the  press,  may  be  named  as  an  in- 
stance in  point.  Though  he  well  knew  what  it 
was  to  labour  with  his  own  hands  as  a  practical 
farmer,  yet  no  one  who  has  looked  at  the  pages 
of  the  "  Cultivator,"  will  doubt  for  an  instant  that 
by  conducting  this  work  he  did  more  for  the  agri- 
culture, and  consequently  for  the  wealth  of  his 
country,  than  any  hundred  farmers,  as  good  as  he, 
could  have  accomplished  by  following  the  plough. 
Let  us  hear  no  more  of  this  cant  about  working 
men  and  idle  men :  all  industrious  citizens  are 
working-men.  There  are  drones,  indeed,  but 
they  exist  as  largely  in  the  ranks  of  nominal  la- 
bour as  elsewhere. 

Nearly  allied  to  this  subject,  is  another  to 
which  the  most  serious  and  impartial  attention  is 
requested.  I  mean  the  opposition  which  some 
have  attempted  to  set  on  foot,  between  the  poor 
and  the  rich.  It  is  natural  for  the  opposition  to 
exist  in  some  degree  ;  but  they  are  traitors  to 
society  who  make  it  their  business  to  foster  it.  It 
is  natural  for  the  hard  working-man,  sorely  pressed 
to  support  his  family,  to  look  with  envy  upon  the 


WHO   IS   THE    WORKING-MAN?  221 

glittering  equipage  or  marble  house  of  his  weahhy 
neighbour.  But  to  seek  the  regulation  of  this 
matter  by  tumult  and  spoliation  would  be  the  ex- 
treme of  madness.  There  never  has  been,  and 
there  never  will  be  a  country  without  this  same 
division  into  rich  and  poor.  Attempts  have,  in- 
deed, been  made  for  a  season,  to  have  every  thing 
in  common ;  somewhat  after  the  visions  of  Robert 
Owen ;  but  they  have  always  failed.  This  was 
tried  two  hundred  years  ago  among  the  romantic 
settlers  of  Virginia ;  but  the  bubble  soon  burst, 
for  none  were  gainers  but  the  drones,  and  it  was 
soon  proclaimed  as  a  law,  that  "  he  who  will  not 
work  shall  not  eat." 

The  sure  and  direct  way  to  competency  and 
even  wealth,  is  the  quiet  pursuit  of  a  good  trade 
or  calling.  In  no  country  is  this  more  true  than 
in  our  own,  where  there  are  no  legal  barriers 
against  the  rising  of  the  honest  poor;  where 
there  are  no  titles  of  nobility,  no  law  of  primo- 
geniture, no  entail  of  estates.  A  few  glaring  ex- 
ceptions there  may  be,  but,  generally  speaking, 
the  wealth  of  this  country  has  been  acquired  by 
indefatigable  industry:  our  rich  men  have  been 
working-men.  Or,  suppose  it  to  have  been  their 
fathers  who  were  the  working-men  ;  is  my  reader 
the  man  who  would  cut  off  his  own  sons  from  all 
the  advantages  of  what  he  has  earned  ?  It  is  idle, 
it  is  ruinous,  in  such  a  country  as  ours,  to  set  the 
poor  against  the  rich.  For  who  are  the  poor? 
If  you  mean  the  drunken,  the  profligate,  the  idle . 
19* 


822  THE    WORKING-MAN. 

our  gamblers,  sharpers,  and  sturdy  beggars  ;  cer- 
tainly it  is  not  for  their  behoof  that  you  would 
make  a  division  of  property.  Who  are  the  poor? 
If  you  mean  the  hard-working  tradesman  or  ope 
rative — he  does  not  need  your  help,  and  if  he  is 
"wise  he  will  not  ask  it ;  because  he  is  rapidly  * 
passing  out  of  the  ranks  of  the  poor  into  those  of 
the  rich.  Nor  would  it  be  possible  to  draw  a  line 
separating  the  one  class,  from  the  other,  without 
placing  on  each  hand  those  who  were  rismg  or 
falling  from  either  side.  AVhose  interest,  then,  is 
it  to  excite  prejudices  between  rich  and  poor? 
Not  that  of  the  industrious  ;  not  that  of  the  poor 
man  who  has  sons,  who  may  rise  to  the  utmost 
elevation  known  among  us  ;  not  that  of  the  quiet 
man  who  desires  security  of  property  for  himself 
and  his  neighbour ;  but  only  of  the  grasping  and 
designing  rogue,  who,  like  a  thief  at  a  fire,  wishes 
to  profit  by  the  general  confusion. 

All  these  suspicions  and  heart-burnings  between 
one  class  and  another  are  evil  and  disastrous. 
There  can  no  more  be  an  absolute  level  in  society 
than  in  the  ocean ;  and  there  is  no  great  class  of 
men  which  is  not  necessary  to  the  good  of  all  the 
rest.  The  reader  of  history  will  remember  the 
famous  story  of  Menenius  Agrippa,  a  Roman 
consul  and  general,  as  related  by  Livy.  The 
populace  were  up  in  arms  against  the  nobles,  and 
had  intrenched  themselves  on  one  of  the  hills  of 
the  city.  Agrippa  appeased  them  by  the  follow- 
ing fable :  "  Once  on  a  time,  when  each  member 


WHO    IS    THE    WORKING-MAN?  223 

of  the  human  body  could  speak  for  itself,  the 
members  became  dissatisfied  with  the  belly ; 
which,  said  they,  does  nothing  but  lie  in  state,  and 
enjoy  the  fruit  of  our  labours.  They  resolved, 
therefore,  upon  a  strike,  and  determined  to  stop 
the  supplies  of  this  luxurious  organ.  The  hands 
stopped  work,  and  would  bring  no  food  to  keep 
him  from  starving ;  the  mouth  would  receive  no 
provision ;  the  feet  came  to  a  perfect  stand-still ; 
in  a  word,  all  business  was  stagnant.  There 
was  great  perseverance  in  this  combination,  until 
at  length  a  universal  emaciation  took  place,  and 
it  was  seen  that  there  was  no  such  thing  as  living 
without  the  kind  offices  of  this  indolent  and  aris- 
tocratic consumer  of  victual." 


324  THE    WORKING-MAN. 


XXXVI. 

HOME    PLEASURES. 

"  I  crown  thee  king  of  intimate  delights, 
Fireside  enjoyments,  home-born  happiness, 
And  all  tlie  comforts  that  the  lowly  roof 
Of  undisturb'd  retirement,  and  the  hours 
Of  long  uninterrupted  evening  know." 

CoWPEE. 

The  family  relation  implies  community  of  in- 
terest ;  as  there  is  a  common  stock,  so  there  are 
common  sorrows  and  common  joys.  Put  a  dozen 
people  together  in  a  house,  and  let  each  lead  the 
life  of  a  hermit :  this  would  be  no  family,  even 
though  they  might  be  blood  relations.  There  is 
more  of  domestic  life  even  in  the  steerage  of  a 
packet-ship,  where  like  seeks  its  like,  and  little 
congenial  groups  are  formed  before  the  voyage  is 
over.  The  true  glory  of  home  is  in  the  middle 
region  of  civilization :  it  is  absent  alike  from  the 
highest  and  the  lowest.  What  can  be  more  cheer- 
less than  the  sullen  selfishness  of  the  Indian  wig- 
wam ;  where  the  relentless  savage  wraps  himself 
up  in  indolent  dignity,  while  the  squaw  and  the 
children  are  spurned,  as  unworthy  of  a  look — un- 
less it  be  the  elegant  and  fashionable  household 
of  the  prince  or  noble,  where  each  is  independent 


HOME    PLEASURES.  225 

of  the  other,  and  has  his  separate  equipage  and 
peculiar  friends.  Compare  with  this  the  cottage 
of  the  poor  labourer,  who  returns  at  twilight  to 
be  welcomed  by  every  human  being,  and  every 
domestic  animal ;  who  tells  over,  or  hears,  all  the 
occurrences  of  the  day,  and  who  feels  that  there 
is  no  interest  which  he  does  not  share  with  every 
one  around  him. 

There  is  more  value  than  all  believe,  in  the 
simple  maxim,  Ltt  family  enjoyments  be  com- 
mon to  all.  If  there  are  few  who  deny  this,  there 
are  still  fewer  who  act  upon  it  in  its  full  extent. 
Something  of  it,  as  I  have  said,  there  must  be,  to 
make  a  family  at  all.  We  occupy  the  same  house, 
sit  around  the  same  fire,  and  eat  at  the  same  table. 
It  would  seem  churlish,  and  almost  inhuman,  to 
do  otherwise.  But  I  am  for  carrying  the  matter 
much  farther,  and  for  knitting  more  closely  to- 
gether those  who  cluster  around  the  same  hearth ; 
believing  that  every  influence  is  evil  which  severs 
father  from  child,  and  brother  from  brother.  The 
morsel  that  is  eaten  alone  becomes  sooner  or  later 
a  bitter  morsel. 

Members  of  the  same  household  should  feel 
that  they  are  dependent  on  one  another,  and  should 
be  as  free  to  ask,  as  ready  to  give,  assistance. 
Each  should  rise  in  the  morning  with  the  impres- 
sion, that  no  duty  of  the  day  is  more  urgent  than 
to  make  every  individual  happy,  with  whom  he  is 
brought  into  contact.  And  this  contact  should  be 
sought,  not  shunned.     It  is   a  bad   sign,  when 


226  THE    WORKING-MAN. 

members  of  the  same  household  are  shy  of  one 
another.  I  do  not,  of  course,  allude  here  to  those 
horrid  instances  of  unnatural,  brutal  temper, 
where  persons  of  the  same  blood,  daily  gathered 
around  the  same  board,  refuse  to  speak  to  one 
another :  malice  and  envy  must  rankle  deeply 
where  this  can  be  the  case.  I  refer  to  a  more 
common  fault,  which  sometimes  exists  where 
there  is  a  degree  of  real  affection,  but  where  the 
members  of  a  family  have  separate  pursuits  and 
separate  pleasures.  The  hasty  morning  meal  is 
swallowed  with  little  intercourse.  When  it  is 
done,  each  hurries  to  his  or  her  peculiar  line  of 
employment.  The  mother  is  busy  in  the  kitchen, 
the  father  in  the  shop,  the  sons  go  their  several 
ways.  This  might  do  well  enough,  if  it  were 
confined  to  business,  but  it  becomes  the  habit  of 
the  hours  of  leisure.  The  father  has  his  evenings 
abroad ;  the  sons  are  seldom  within  doors  till  a 
late  hour,  and  too  often,  she  who  most  needs  the 
cheering  influences  of  the  family  circle,  the 
mother,  is  left  to  patch  or  darn  by  a  dim  candle, 
with  the  cradle  moving  at  her  feet,  during  those 
hours  in  which  her  daughters  are  laughing  or 
singing  among  their  young  company.  All  this  is 
highly  undesirable.  The  evenings  of  the  indus- 
trious family  may  be,  and  ought  to  be,  delightful 
seasons  of  joint  satisfactions.  If  we  must  have 
evening  parties  of  friends,  let  there  be  a  proper 
mingling  of  sexes  and  ages.  The  presence  of  the 
old  may  to  a  degree  moderate  the  mirth  of  the, 


HOME    PLEASURES.  227 

young,  but  in  the  same  proportion  the  aged  will 
be  enlivened.  This  parcelling  and  assorting  of 
society,  like  labelled  packages  in  a  shop,  is  be- 
coming too  common,  and  in  my  judgment  inju- 
rious. The  young  folks  must  be  all  together; 
and  the  children  must  be  all  together ;  and  if  mat- 
ters go  on  thus,  we  may  live  to  see  parties  of 
graybeards  and  parties  of  sucklings.  No  !  wher- 
ever it  is  possible,  let  the  family  chain  be  kept 
bright  and  whole.  In  the  houses  of  the  indus- 
trious, it  is  surely  broken  often  enough  by  separa- 
tion at  work  during  the  day. 

Instead  of  thus  living  apart,  which  engenders 
selfishness  and  moroseness,  I  love  to  see  the  mem- 
bers of  families  flowing  together,  like  congenial 
drops.  There  are  some  houses  in  which  no  one 
makes  a  confidant  of  another :  if  one  would  learn 
the  secret  of  his  brother,  he  must  go  abroad  for  it. 
This  is  unnatural,  and  wholly  evil ;  incompatible 
with  the  frankness  of  simple  love.  Show  me  the 
father  often  walking  with  his  sons,  and  these  sons 
often  with  one  another,  not  in  business  merely,  but 
in  sports ;  and  I  shall  think  I  see  a  virtuous  and 
happy  household. 

There  is  one  particular  in  which  the  principle 
I  have  laid  down  may  have  a  very  important  ap- 
plication. I  mean  the  case  of  mental  improve- 
ment. The  rule  should  here  be,  so  far  as  pos- 
sible, let  the  pursuit  of  knowledge  in  every  family 
be  a  joint  pursuit.  For  many  reasons  this  is  de- 
sirable in  every  house,  but  it  is  almost  indispen- 


228  THE    WORKING-MAN. 

sable  in  the  house  of  the  working-man.  It  wakes 
up  the  spirit  of  improvement ;  it  saves  time  and 
expense,  and  it  gives  tenfold  zest  to  the  refresh- 
ments of  leisure.  To  take  one  of  the  simplest 
instances,  I  would,  in  two  words,  say  to  every 
working-man.  Read  aloud.  If  the  book  is  bor- 
rowed, this  is  often  the  only  way  in  which  every 
one  can  get  his  share.  If  the  family  is  very  busy, 
—and  the  female  members  of  all  industrious  fami- 
lies are  as  much  so  in  the  evening  as  in  the  day — 
the  reading  of  one  will  be  as  good  as  the  reading 
of  all,  and  while  one  reads,  a  dozen  may  knit  or 
sew.  There  are  many  persons  who  enjoy  much 
more  and  retain  much  better  what  is  read  to  them 
than  what  they  read  themselves  :  to  the  reader 
himself,  there  is  a  great  difference  in  favour  of 
reading  aloud,  as  it  regards  the  impression  on  his 
own  mind.  The  members  of  the  circle  may  take 
turns,  and  thus  each  will  liave  a  chance  of  learn- 
ing, what  so  few  really  attain,  the  art  of  correct 
and  agreeable  reading.  Occasion  is  thus  offered 
for  questions,  remarks,  and  general  discourse ; 
and  it  is  almost  impossible  for  conversation  to 
flag,  where  this  practice  is  pursued.  With  this 
method,  the  younger  members  of  a  family  may  be 
saved  in  a  good  degree  from  the  perusal  of  frivo- 
lous and  hurtful  books ;  and,  if  a  little  foresight 
be  used,  a  regular  course  of  solid  or  elegant  in- 
struction might  thus  be  constantly  going  forward, 
even  in  the  humblest  family. 

But  the  moral  and  social  effects  of  such  a  prac- 


HOME    PLEASURES.  229 

tice  are  not  less  to  be  regarded.  Evenings  thus 
spent  will  never  be  forgotten.  Their  influence 
will  be  daily  felt  in  making  every  member  of  the 
circle  more  necessary  to  all  the  rest.  There  will 
be  an  attractive  charm  in  these  little  fireside  asso- 
ciations which  will  hold  the  sons  and  daughters 
back  from  much  of  the  wandering  which  is  com- 
mon. It  will  be  a  cheap,  wholesome,  safe  eajoy- 
ment,  and  it  will  be  all  this,  at  home. 

The  gains  of  an  affectionate  family  ought  to  be 
shared  and  equalized ;  the  remark  is  true  of  all 
degrees  and  kinds  of  learning.  Study  has  a  ten- 
dency to  drive  men  to  solitude,  and  solitude  begets 
selfishness,  whim,  and  moroseness.  There  are 
some  households  in  which  only  one  person  is 
learned  ;  this  one,  however  amiable,  has,  perhaps, 
never  thought  of  sharing  his  acquisitions  with  a 
brother  or  a  sister.  How  seldom  do  men  com- 
municate what  they  have  learned  to  their  female 
relations :  or,  as  a  man  once  said  in  my  hearing, 
"  Who  tells  news  to  his  wife  ?"  And  yet  how 
easy  would  it  be,  by  dropping  a  word  here,  and 
a  word  there,  for  even  a  philosopher  to  convey  the 
chief  results  of  his  inquiries  to  those  whom  he 
meets  at  every  meal.  I  have  been  sometimes  sur- 
prised to  see  fathers,  who  had  made  great  attain- 
ments, and  who,  therefore,  knew  the  value  of 
knowledge,  abstaining  from  all  intercourse  with 
their  sons,  upon  the  points  which  were  nearest 
their  own  hearts.  In  families  where  the  reverse 
of  this  is  true,  that  is,  where  the  pursuits  of  tlie 
20 


230  THE    WORKING-MAN. 

house  have  been  a  joint  business,  it  is  common  to 
see  a  succession  of  persons  eminent  in  the  same 
line.  Thus,  among  linguists,  the  Buxtorfs ; 
among  painters  the  Vernets  and  the  Peales ;  among 
musicians,  the  Garcias ;  in  literature,  the  Edge- 
worths,  the  Taylors,  and  the  Wirts. 

There  are  some  pleasures  which,  in  their  very 
nature,  are  social ;  these  may  be  used  to  give  a 
charm  to  the  working-man's  home.  This  is  more 
true  of  nothing  than  of  music.  Harmony  implies 
a  concurrence  of  parts,  and  I  have  seen  families 
so  trained,  that  every  individual  had  his  allotted 
part  or  instrument.  Let  the  thing,  however,  be 
conducted  by  some  rule.  If  proper  pains  be  taken 
with  children,  while  they  are  yet  young,  they 
may  all  be  taught  to  sing.  Where  circumstances 
favour  it,  instrumental  music  may  be  added.  It 
is  somewhat  unfortunate  that  American  women 
practise  almost  entirely  upon  the  more  expensive 
instruments  ;  and  it  is  not  every  man  who  can  or 
ought  to  give  two  hundred  and  fifty  dollars  for  a 
piano-forte.  In  countries  where  the  guitar  is  a 
common  accompaniment,  it  is  within  the  reach 
of  the  poorest.  There  may  be  lovely  music, 
however  without  any  instrument.  The  most  ex- 
quisite music  in  the  world,  I  mean  that  of  the 
pope's  Sistine  Chapel,  is  known  to  be  such. 
There  is  great  room  for  selection,  however,  both 
as  to  music  and  words.  It  is  the  height  of  folly 
to  buy  every  new  thing  which  comes  from  the 
music-sellers.     So  far  as  words  are  concerned,  a 


HOME    PLEASURES.  231 

full  half  of  what  they  publish  is  nonsense,  or 
worse ;  and  I  have  blushed  to  see  a  young  lady 
turning  over  what  she  very  properly  called  her 
"  loose  music."  Those  persons,  therefore,  de- 
serve our  thanks,  who  from  time  to  time  are  pub- 
lishing in  a  cheap  form  such  secular  music  as  is 
proper  for  families.  I  here  refer  chiefly  to  such 
works  as  Kingsley's  Social  Choir,  Mason's  Odeon, 
and  the  Boston  Glee  Book. 

But,  after  all,  and  without  any  reference  to  re- 
ligion, the  best  music  is  sacred  music.  It  is  on 
this  that  the  greatest  masters  have  laid  out  their 
strength ;  it  is  this  which  most  suits  the  chorus 
of  many  voices.  Secular  pieces,  as  commonly 
published,  are  intended  to  be  sung  by  few,  or  by 
a  single  voice  ;  but  sacred  compositions  admit  of 
the  strength  of  a  whole  company.  And  it  is  truly 
delightful  to  drop  into  one  of  those  families  where 
the  evenings  are  sometimes  spent  in  this  way. 
There  is  the  eldest  daughter  at  the  piano-forte, 
accompanied  by  the  eldest  son  upon  the  violin. 
Another  son  and  two  daughters  lead  off"  vocally, 
with  the  principal  melody,  while  a  neighbouring 
youth  plays  the  tenor,  and  sings  the  same  part. 
The  old  gentleman  in  spectacles  labours  at  his 
violoncello,  and  two  or  three  flutes  come  in  mo- 
destly to  complete  the  orchestra ;  while  nieces, 
nephews,  cousins,  friends,  and,  perhaps,  suitors, 
fill  up  the  sounding  chorus  with  right  good  will. 
This  is,  indeed,  something  more  than  a  mere 
family  meeting,  but  it  is  what  grows  out  of  it ; 


232  THE    WORKING-MAN. 

and  when  the  evening  ends,  and  some  litde  re- 
freshments have  gone  around,  the  transition  is  not 
abrupt  from  this  to  the  social  worship,  when 
all  voices  join  once  more  in  a  happy  evening 
hymn. 


EVENINGS   AT    HOME.  233 


xxxvir. 

THE    working-man's   EVENINGS   AT    HOME 

"  0,  evenings  worthy  of  the  gods  !  exclaimed 
The  Sabine  bard.     O  evenings,  I  reply, 
More  to  be  prized  and  coveted  than  yours, 
As  more  illumined,  and  with  nobler  truths, 
That  I,  and  mine,  and  those  we  love,  enjoy." 

CoWPXB. 

There  are  no  portions  of  the  working-man's 
life  in  which  a  more  constant  series  of  innocent 
satisfactions  is  offered  to  him,  than  his  evenings. 
This  is  true  of  those  at  least  whose  trades  do  not 
encroach  upon  the  night.  When  labour  is  over, 
there  is  an  opening  for  domestic  pleasures  which 
no  wise  man  will  ever  neglect. 

My  neighbour  Boswell  has  a  high  sense  of 
these  enjoyments,  and  makes  the  most  of  them. 
Except  when  some  public  meeting  calls  him 
abroad,  you  are  as  sure  to  find  him  at  home  in  the 
evening,  as  at  work  in  the  day.  Sometimes,  in- 
deed, he  accompanies  his  wife  or  eldest  daughter 
in  a  visit,  but  he  never  appears  at  clubs  or  taverns. 
"  I  work  hard,"  he  is  accustomed  to  say,  "  for  my 
little  comforts,  and  I  like  to  enjoy  them  unbroken." 

The  picture  would  not  be  unworthy  of  the 
20* 


«34 


THE    WORKING-MAN. 


pencil  of  a  Wilkie  :  I  have  it  clearly  in  my  mind's 
eye.  The  snug  and  well-closed  room  is  all  gay 
with  the  blaze  of  a  high  wood-fire ;  which  casts 
upon  the  smiling  circle  a  ruddy  glow.  There  is 
Boswell,  in  his  arm-chair,  one  hand  between  the 
leaves  of  a  book  which  he  has  just  closed,  the 
other  among  the  auburn  locks  of  a  little  prattling 
girl.  He  gazes  into  the  coals  with  that  air  of 
happy  revery,  which  is  so  sure  a  token  of  a  mind 
at  rest.  The  wife,  nearer  to  the  light,  is  plying 
the  ceaseless  needle,  and  distributing  kind  words, 
and  kinder  glances  among  the  little  group.  Mary, 
the  eldest  daughter,  is  leaning  over  a  sheet  of 
paper,  upon  which  she  has  just  executed  a  draw- 
ing. George,  the  eldest  son,  is  most  laboriously 
engaged  in  the  construction  of  a  powder-horn. 
Two  little  ones  are  playing  the  royal  game  of 
Goose ;  while  one,  the  least  of  all,  is  asleep  be- 
fore the  fire,  by  the  dog  and  the  cat,  who  never 
fail  to  occupy  the  same  spot  every  evening. 

Such  humble  scenes,  I  am  happy  to  beliere,  are 
still  presented  to  view,  in  thousands  of  families 
among  the  working  classes.  Need  it  be  added, 
that  they  are  immeasurably  above  the  sickly  heats 
of  those  who  make  pleasure  the  great  object  of 
their  pursuit  in  life  ?  It  is  among  such  influences 
that  religion  spreads  its  balm,  and  that  knowledge 
sheds  its  fruits.  Rest  after  toil  is  always  agree- 
able ;  but  it  is  doubly  so  when  enjoyed  in  such 
circumstances,  in  the  bosom  of  a  loving  family, 
healthful,  instructed,  and  harmonious.     Such  uni- 


EVENINGS    AT    HOME.  235 

formity  is  never  tedious,  nor  such  quiet  ever  dull. 
Every  such  evening  may  be  remembered  in  after 
life  with  pleasing  regrets. 

My  friend  tells  me,  that  it  is  a  refreshment  to 
his  mind,  during  the  greatest  labours  or  chagrin 
of  the  day,  to  look  forward  to  his  tranquil  even- 
ing. When  work  is  done,  he  hastens  to  wash 
away  the  traces  of  his  ruder  business,  and  to 
make  himself  as  smart  as  is  consistent  with  frugal 
plainness.  "  He  who  hammers  all  day,"  he  says, 
"  has  a  right  to  be  clean  at  night."  This  is  the 
rule  of  his  house;  and  when  his  sons  grow  large 
enough  to  be  out  at  trades,  they  will,  no  doubt, 
come  in  every  evening  as  trim  and  as  tidy  as  they 
went  out. 

It  is  no  interruption  of  such  a  group  for  a 
neighbour  to  drop  in.  The  circle  opens,  a  seat  is 
drawn  up,  the  sleepers  are  merrily  pushed  aside 
from  the  rug,  the  conversation  grows  lively,  news 
circulates,  and  joy  sparkles  in  every  face.  The 
salves  of  cakes,  or  the  fruit-basket,  or  some  health- 
ful beverage  prepared  by  "neat-handed"  Mary, 
adds  to  the  substantial  of  the  entertainment.  The 
newspaper,  or  some  pleasant  book  is  read  aloud  ; 
and  whefl  the  hour  for  separation  comes,  they 
part  with  a  vastly  better  state  of  feeling  than  that 
of  the  greasy  creature  who  has  nodded  in  his 
moping  corner,  or  the  peevish  tavern-haunter  who 
comes  home  late  to  scold  his  solitary  wife. 

It  might  be  interesting  to  inquire  what  would  be 
the  effect  upon  the  state  of  society  in  any  village 


236  THE    WORKING-MAN. 

or  town,  if  every  working-man  in  it  could  be  in- 
duced to  spend  his  evenings  at  home,  and  in  this 
manner.  A  reform  in  this  single  particular  would 
work  wonders.  Every  one  who  is  admitted  to 
such  a  scene,  feels  at  once  that  there  is  a  charm 
in  it.  Why,  then,  are  there  so  many  families, 
where  nothing  of  this  kind  is  known  ?  To  give 
all  the  reasons  might  be  tedious  ;  but  I  must  men- 
tion one  or  two.  First,  there  must  be  punctuality, 
neatness,  and  thrift  in  the  affairs  of  housekeeping, 
to  make  such  a  state  of  things  practicable.  No 
man  loves  to  take  his  seat  between  two  washing- 
tubs,  or  beside  a  fire  where  lard  is  simmering,  or 
to  stretch  his  legs  over  a  hearth  where  almost 
every  spot  is  occupied  by  some  domestic  utensil. 
Then,  there  must  be  a  feeling  of  mutual  respect 
and  love,  to  afford  inducement  to  come  together 
in  this  way.  Further,  it  is  difficult  to  maintain 
these  happy  evening  groups  without  some  little 
sprinkling  of  knowledge.  The  house  where  there 
are  no  books  is  a  dull  house ;  the  talk  is  amazingly 
dull  talk.  Reading  makes  pleasant  conversation. 
George  always  has  some  good  thing  to  read  to 
Mary ;  or  Mary  some  useful  fact  to  repeat  to 
George.  A  little  learning  in  the  family  is  like  a 
little  salt  in  the  barrel,  it  keeps  all  sound  and 
savoury.  And,  finally,  I  feel  it  incumbent  on  me 
to  repeat  what  has  been  said  more  than  once  al- 
ready, that  he  who  overtasks  his  days,  has  no 
evenings.  In  our  country,  thank  God,  labour 
need  not  be  immoderate  to  keep  one  alive.    There 


EVENINGS    AT    HOME.  237 

is  such  a  thing  as  working  too  much,  and  thus  be- 
eoming  a  mere  beast  of  burden.  I  could  name 
some  men,  and  more  women,  who  seem  to  me  to 
be  guilty  of  this  error.  Consequently,  when 
work  is  past  they  are  fit  for  nothing  but  solid 
sleep.  Such  are  the  men  and  the  women  who 
have  no  domestic  pleasures ;  no  reading,  no  im 
provement,  no  delightful  evenings  ^t  hom«. 


238  THE    WORKING-MAN, 

XXXVIII. 

THE    WORKING-MAN    IN    THE    COUNTRY. 

"  As  one  who  long  in  populous  city  pent 
Where  houses  thick  and  sewers  annoy  the  air, 
Forth  issuing  on  a  summer's  morn  to  breathe 
Among  the  pleasant  villages  and  farms 
Adjoin'd,  from  each  thing  met  conceives  delight, 
The  smell  of  grain,  or  tedded  grass,  or  kine. 
Or  dairy,  each  rural  sight,  each  rural  sound " 

MiLTOX. 

Every  man,  until  his  taste  is  completely  vitiated, 
and  habit,  a  second  nature,  has  inverted  his  na- 
tive propensities,  will  experience  a  satisfaction 
upon  going  into  the  country ;  and  there  is  a  par- 
ticular zest  in  the  little  excursions  of  the  town- 
bred  artisan,  who  leaves  the  brick,  and  mortar, 
and  confined  air  within,  to  enjoy  the  gaiety  and 
freshness  of  rural  environs.  These  visits  have 
pleasant  associations.  We  connect  them  with 
fine  weather,  clean  clothes,  holidays,  and  good 
company  ;  and  it  is  not  unlikely  that  much  of  the 
beauty  of  the  country  is  merely  an  emanation 
from  our  own  cheerfulness.  Yet  after  every  de- 
duction on  this  score,  we  shall  all  say  with  the 
poet, 

"God  mado  the  countty,  but  man  made  the  town !" 


IN   THE    COUNTRY.  239 

It  is  not  wonderful,  therefore,  that  many  of  our 
working-men,  as  soon  as  they  are  able,  take  their 
families  into  the  country,  either  for  the  summer, 
or  as  a  permanent  residence.  A  large  proportion 
of  the  snug  little  farms  around  our  great  towns, 
are  tilled  by  mechanics,  some  of  whom  have  re- 
tired from  trade,  while  others  still  continue  in  bu- 
siness, and  use  these  as  their  places  of  retreat. 
This  tendency  to  the  country  seems  to  be  on  the 
increase,  and  I  am  persuaded  it  augurs  well  for 
the  future  respectability  of  the  whole  class. 
There  are  few  mechanics  in  our  land  who  may 
not  look  forward  to  the  possession  and  occupancy 
of  a  few  acres ;  and  the  expectation  is  a  very 
cheering  one  to  those  who  have  to  ply  their  se- 
dentary tasks,  year  after  year,  in  the  same  unven- 
tilated  shops  or  lofts.  There  is  a  feeling  of  inde- 
pendence in  surveying  one's  own  grounds,  how- 
ever small  in  extent ;  there  is  a  perpetual  gratifi- 
cation of  natural  taste  in  the  sights,  sounds,  and 
odours  of  the  country ;  but  there  are  more  sub- 
stantial benefits.  No  device  for  the  prevention  of 
disease  or  the  restoration  of  health,  is  comparable 
to  that  of  moderate  agricultural  labour.  The  fresh 
air,  the  exhalation  of  newly  opened  furrows,  the 
morning  ride,  the  succession  of  vegetables  and 
fruits,  the  continual  variety  of  employments,  the 
intervals  of  absolute  rest,  and  the  placid  ease  of 
mind,  concur  to  keep  the  animal  powers  in  their 
most  healthful  play.  I  scarcely  know  which  sea- 
son most  to  covet :  spring  is  balmy  and  full  of 


240  THE    WORKING-MAN, 

promise ;  summer  affords  gorgeous  flowers  and 
sunny  harvest ;  autumn  comes  laden  with  fruits  ; 
and  even  winter  brings  days  of  healthful  labour 
and  evenings  of  cheerfulness  and  improvement  by 
the  ample  fire-place. 

There  is  no  situation  in  which  children  may  be 
brought  up  in  greater  security  from  the  tempta- 
tions of  a  wicked  world.  They  must,  indeed, 
become  somewhat  restive  ;  they  may,  perhaps,  be 
bashful,  and  will  fail  of  having  that  precocious  as- 
surance, and  almost  pertness,  which  one  observes 
in  too  many  city  lads.  But  from  how  many 
moral  defilements  are  they  protected !  Having 
had  some  trial  of  both  situations  in  my  earlier 
days,  I  do  not  hesitate  a  moment  to  say,  that  the 
temptations  of  boyhood  are  far  less  in  a  farm  than 
in  any  other  condition  in  life.  Then  we  should 
take  into  the  reckoning  the  strength,  and  agility, 
and  manliness  which  are  fostered  in  a  country 
life.  The  youthful  limbs  are  developed,  and  the 
constitution  made  robust  by  labour,  sport,  and  ex- 
posure. Sometimes  the  little  farmer  strains  the 
young  horse  across  the  meadow,  or  with  his  faith- 
ful dogs  traverses  the  wood,  and  climbs  high  to 
dislodge  the  squirrel  or  the  raccoon  from  the  slen- 
der hickory.  Or  he  dashes  into  the  rapid  stream, 
or  rows  his  boat,  or  drives  his  herd  info  distant 
pastures,  regardless  of  rains  and  snows,  which 
would  put  in  jeopardy  the  lives  of  more  effemi- 
nate boys  Certainly  the  solids  of  physical  edu- 
cation are  best  secured  in  the  country. 


IN   THE    COUNTRY.  241 

My  old  neighbour,  Henry  Hope,  is  an  instance 
of  the  good  effect  of  a  timely  retreat  into  the 
country.  After  working  many  years  at  the  hat- 
ter's trade,  he  began  to  show  signs  of  primitive 
decay.  He  had  contracted  a  stoop  in  the  shoul- 
ders, and  his  complexion  was  of  a  dirty  yellow. 
Without  entirely  giving  up  his  business,  he  in- 
vested some  of  his  savings  in  a  little  property  four 
miles  out  of  town.  Every  year  found  him  more 
and  more  of  a  farmer,  until  last  spring  he  sold  out 
his  whole  mechanical  establishment,  and  betook 
himself  to  the  green  fields.  I  lately  visited  him, 
and  was  entertained  with  the  complacency  of  his 
air,  as  he  took  me  over  his  grounds.  "  There," 
said  he,  "  are  my  stacks  of  wheat ;  not  more, 
perhaps,  than  six  hundred  bushels  ;  but  then  my 
own,  in  every  sense.  There,  on  the  right,  you 
see  I  am  putting  up  a  new  barn,  and  cover  for 
my  cattle.  That  spring-house  of  white  stone  is 
as  cool  as  winter ;  the  clear  water  trickles  over 
the  brick  floor  at  all  seasons.  Near  by,  you  may 
see  my  meadow,  with  the  brook  running  through 
the  midst  of  it.  The  double  row  of  willows  is  to 
protect  a  causeway  I  have  been  making  through 
that  newly-drained  swamp.  But,  come,  I  must 
not  let  you  go  till  I  have  showed  you  my  orchard, 
and  explained  my  plans  of  grafting."  So  he  ran 
on,  descanting  now  on  his  stock,  now  on  his  poul- 
try, exhibiting  improved  ploughs,  and  young 
hedges,  until  t  was  almost  persuaded  to  turn 
farmer  myself. 

21 


243  THE    WORKING-MAN. 

It  is  more  than  eighteen  centuries  since  a  Latin 
poet  described,  with  enthusiasm,  the  lot  of  the 
husbandman : 

"  O  happy,  if  he  knew  his  happy  state, 
The  swain  who,  free  from  business  and  debate, 
Receives  the  easy  food  from  nature's  hand, 
And  just  returns  of  cultivated  land. 
Unvex'd  with  quarrels,  undisturb'd  with  noise, 
The  country  king  his  peaceful  realm  enjoys — 
Cool  grots,  and  living  lakes,  the  flowing  pride 
Of  meads,  and  streams  that  through  the  valley  glide, 
And  shady  groves  that  easy  sleep  invite, 
And,  after  toilsome  days,  a  soft  repose  at  night"* 

A  country  where  agriculture  is  the  great  pur- 
suit, is  always  a  country  advancing  in  civilization. 
Our  own  land  still  spreads  out  before  the  enter- 
prising young  man  so  many  millions  of  untilled 
acres,  that  it  would  seem  to  be  a  plain  indication, 
of  Providence,  that  for  some  time  to  come  we 
should  be  an  agricultural  people.  There  can  be 
no  serious  comparison  between  the  health,  phy- 
sical and  moral,  of  men  in  a  thriving,  rural  dis- 
trict, and  any  equal  number  pent  up  in  manufac- 
turing towns.  In  order  to  succeed  in  husbandry, 
great  farms  are  by  no  means  necessary.  It  has 
grown  into  a  proverb,  that  men  grow  poor  on 
large  farms,  and  rich  on  small  ones.  But  if  a 
man  wishes  to  do  these  things  upon  the  widest 
scale,  the  West  is  all  open  before  him,  and  he 
may  sit  down  among  thousands  of  acres. 

•  VirgU. 


SATURDAY  ifVENINa.  243 


XXXIX. 

THE    working-man's    SATURDAY   EVENING. 

"  Come,  evening,  once  again,  season  of  peace ; 
Return,  sweet  evening,  and  continue  long. 
Methinks  I  see  thee  in  the  streaky  west, 
With  matron  step  slow  moving,  while  the  night 
Treads  on  thy  sweeping  train  !  one  hand  employ'd 
In  letting  fall  the  curtain  of  repose 
On  bird  and  beast,  the  other  charged  for  man 
With  sweet  oblivion  of  the  cares  of  day." 

CoWPEH. 

No  one  familiar  with  the  aspect  of  towns  in- 
habited by  artisans,  needs  to  be  informed  that  the 
close  of  the  week  is  marked  by  very  striking  pe- 
culiarities. As  the  ponderous  engine  of  human 
labour  slackens  its  revolutions,  and  at  length  stands 
still,  and  gentle  rest  begins  to  spread  her  wing 
over  the  haunts  of  toil,  there  is  at  once  an  addi- 
tion made  to  the  happiness  of  man,  which  no  en- 
thusiasm can  well  overvalue.  In  a  few  moments 
we  may  apply  to  the  great  capital  or  manufactur- 
ing town,  the  expressive  verse  from  Wordsworth's 
famous  sonnet  on  London  Bridge. 

"And  ail  that  mighty  heart  is  lying  still!" 


244  THE    WORKING-MAN. 

The  forge  and  the  smithy  are  ceasing  to 
smoke.  The  mighty  arms  and  shafts  moved  by 
steam,  are  dropping  into  repose.  The  quick  re- 
port of  millions  of  manual  utensils  has  terminated. 
Jaded  animals,  bowing  their  necks,  are  set  free 
from  the  yoke ;  while  innumerable  sons  and 
daughters  of  toil,  released  from  the  necessity  of 
further  work,  are  ready  for  rest  or  pleasure,  for 
improvement  or  vice.  The  thought  is  pleasing. 
As  I  survey  the  crowded  city,  and  allow  my  ima- 
gination to  picture  the  details  of  the  scene,  I  be- 
hold a  thousand  delightful  images  of  domestic 
comfort. 

Now,  according  to  an  extensively  prevalent 
usage,  the  well-earned  reward  of  labour  is  re- 
ceived. Now  the  anxieties  of  the  tedious  week 
are  suspended.  Families,  separated  during  the 
preceding  days,  come  together,  better  prepared 
than  at  other  tim«is  to  aid  one  another,  and  to 
enjoy  one  another's  company.  One  unbroken 
day  between  two  nights  of  unaccustomed  repose, 
is  a  golden  prize  in  expectation.  The  meeting  of 
parents,  brothers,  sisters,  children,  sometimes  of 
husband  and  wife,  who  have  been  kept  apart  by 
the  stress  of  labour,  is  not  without  some  points 
which  deserve  the  poetic  touch  of  a  Crabbe  or  an 
Elliot.  It  is,  with  the  virtuous,  a  season  of  hal- 
lowed affections. 

Happy  is  that  working-man  who,  when,  at  the 
week's  end,  he  throws  off,  in  the  bath,  tlie  soils 


SATURDAY    EVENING.  245 

of  labour,  can  with  equal  ease  lay  aside  the  wrong 
emotions  or  evil  habits  of  the  same  period,  and 
with  a  clear  conscience  prepare  for  the  day  of 
rest !  Happy  is  the  youth  who,  when  he  comes 
home  to  greet  his  aged  parents,  and  the  sister  of 
whom  he  is  proud,  feels  that  no  tarnish  has  come 
over  his  heart !  Happy  the  blooming  girl,  how- 
ever lowly  her  calling,  who  enters  the  humble 
dwelling  with  the  elastic  tread  of  conscious  inno- 
cence !  Blessed  family,  where  the  call  to  rest  is 
but  the  signal  for  the  renewal  of  every  kindly  af- 
fection ! 

I  know  that  with  some,  even  in  early  life,  the 
end  of  the  week  is  the  beginning  of  a  frolic.  The 
time  when  wages  are  received  is  apt  to  be  a  sea- 
son of  merriment  if  not  of  vice.  In  summer, 
multitudes,  in  every  sort  of  hired  vehicle,  stream 
forth  out  of  the  various  avenues  of  our  cities  and 
towns.  In  winter  the  streets  resound  till  a  late 
hour  with  the  tread  of  idlers  and  debauchees. 
And  in  every  season,  Saturday  night  fills  the 
taverns,  oyster-houses,  porter-cellars,  and  other 
resorts,  with  a  double  allowance  of  hale  fellows. 
There  is  a  triple  consumption  of  tobacco  and 
strong  drink  on  these  occasions.  So  that  there  is 
a  dark  side  to  the  picture,  as  there  is,  indeed,  to 
most  pictures  of  human  life.  But  even  here,  I 
find  an  illustration  of  some  of  my  favourite  posi- 
tions about  the  conservative  influence  of  the  do- 
mestic institution.     The  worst  men,  I  will  con- 


21* 


246  THE    WORKING-MAN. 

tinue  to  affirm,  are  those  who,  either  from  choice 
or  from  necessity,  have  no  home.  Perhaps,  out 
of  a  thousand  families  gathered  after  a  week's 
work,  there  is  not  one  gathered  for  vicious  indul- 
gence. Where  youth  are  vicious,  they  commonly 
hate  the  hearthstone.  Saturday  evening  is  a  good 
criterion  of  the  attachment  which  a  young  man 
bears  to  the  virtuous  attractions  of  home.  As  the 
guardian  angel  of  the  fireside,  woman  has  here  a 
great  and  hopeful  work.  I  wish  I  could  impress 
on  the  wife,  the  mother,  and  the  sister,  the  value 
of  their  influence  in  this  particular.  Make  home 
delightful,  and  you  will  work  wonders.  That 
wayward  youth  may,  perhaps,  be  won  by  sisterly 
invitation.  Spare  nothing  that  is  fairly  within 
your  power  to  make  it  worth  his  while  to  spend 
his  Saturday  evening  with  the  family.  So  long 
as  you  have  this  hold  upon  him,  you  may  almost 
bid  defiance  to  the  attempts  of  evil  companions. 

Let  it  never  be  forgotten,  that  we  owe  all  these 
good  influences  to  religion.  There  would  be  no 
Saturday  evening,  if  there  were  no  Christian  Sab- 
bath. In  countries  where  man  and  beast  work 
seven  days  in  the  week,  there  is  nothing  which 
resembles  the  pleasant  scenes  to  which  I  have  al- 
luded. In  such  countries  there  is  little  of  what 
we  mean  by  home.  Who  would  undertake  to  ex- 
plain to  a  French  labourer  the  Cotter's  Saturday 
Night? 

And  since  I  have  been  led  to  name  that  exqui- 


SATURDAY   EVENING.  247 

site  production,  I  cannot  leave  it  without  com- 
mending it  to  the  attention  of  every  working-man 
who  sets  a  value  on  family  quiet  and  contentment. 
This  single  effusion  would  not  be  bought  too  dearly 
at  the  price  of  all  the  other  productions  of  Robert 
Burns.  Though  written  with  special  reference  to 
an  agricultural  population,  it  presents  a  scene 
which  might  be  realized  in  the  household  of  any 
good  man  of  whatever  calling.  The  return  of 
the  cottager,  after  his  labours,  is  described  with 
the  feeling  of  one  who  knew  what  it  was  to  come 
home  weary  from  the  plough.  The  return  of  the 
sons,  and  of  the  daughter,  is  described  in  the  very 
dialect  of  nature ;  and  the  entrance  of  the  lover 
is  as  arch  as  it  is  accurate.  The  chat,  the  joke, 
the  supper,  are  all  admirably  told  ;  the  crowning 
grace  of  the  poem  is  the  account  of  the  family 
worship : 

"  The  cheerfu'  supper  done,  wi'  serious  face, 
They,  round  the  ingle,  form  a  circle  wide ; 
The  sire  turns  o'er,  wi'  patriarchal  grace, 
The  big  Aa'  Bibk,  ance  his  father's  pride : 
His  bonnet  reverently  is  laid  aside, 
His  lyart  haffets'  wearing  thin  an'  bare ; 
Those  strains  that  once  did  sweet  in  Zion  glide, 
He  wales  a  portion  with  judicious  care ; 

And,  Let  us  worship  God .'  he  says,  with  solemn  air." 

The  psalm  is  sung,  the  chapter  is  read;  the 
family,  led  by  "  the  priest-like  father,"  bows  in 

•  Temples  covered  with  gray  locks. 


248  THE    WORKING-MAN. 

prayer;  they  separate  with  affectionate  salutations. 
Well  says  Burns,  whom  none  will  suspect  of 
being  a  fanatic : 

"  From  scenes  like  these  old  Scotia's  grandeur  springs, 
That  makes  her  loved  at  home,  revered  abroad : 
Princes  and  lords  are  but  the  breath  of  kings, 
'  An  honest  man's  the  noblest  work  of  God :' 
And,  certes,  in  fair  virtue's  heavenly  road, 
The  cottage  leaves  the  palace  far  behind." 


THE    UNSTABLE    WORKlNTCt-MAN.        249 


XL. 

THE    UNSTABLE    WORKING-MAN. 

"  A  man  so  various  that  he  seem'd  to  be 
Not  one,  but  all  mankind's  epitome: 
Stiff  in  opinions,  always  in  the  wrong, 
Was  every  thing  by  turns,  and  nothing  long. 
But  in  the  course  of  one  revolving  moon 
Was  cbymist,  fidler,  statesman,  and  buffoon," 

Drtdex, 

The  character  which  Dryden  gives  of  the 
witty  and  wicked  Duke  of  Buckingham,  may, 
with  some  little  change,  be  applied  to  many  of 
us  who  have  no  tides  of  nobility.  There  is  no 
more  common  character  among  our  young  men, 
than  that  of  Reuben :  Unstable  as  water,  thou 
shalt  not  excel.*  Nor  do  I  know  any  class  of 
persons  in  whom  it  is  more  unfortunate  than  in 
those  who  earn  their  living  by  industry  ;  because 
it  is  the  very  nature  of  their  employment  to  re- 
quire patient  continuance  in  one  course.  No  trade 
can  be  either  learned  or  practised  without  regu- 
larity and  constancy.  As  I  write  with  a  principal 
reference  to  the  young,  I  think  it  right  to  say 
here,  that  if  the   disease   of  instability   is   ever 

•  Gen.  xlix.  4.  i 


850  THE    WORKING-MAN. 

cured,  it  must  be  in  youth  ;  and  the  effort  is  one 
of  the  most  important  which  could  be  suggested. 
Harry  Vane  is  a  young  man  of  my  neighbour 
hood.  He  has  good  talents  and  good  prospects, 
and  has  begun  life  with  a  pretty  little  sum  of 
money  from  his  father's  estate.  But  though  he 
is  not  yet  twenty-three,  he  has  already  lived  in 
three  houses,  and  set  up  two  trades.  He  has 
very  decided  opinions  to-da)',  but  no  one  can  in- 
sure their  lasting  till  to-morrow.  When  he  hears 
arguments  on  one  side,  he  leans  one  way ;  when 
on  the  other  side,  he  leans  the  other  way.  Hence, 
he  is  quite  at  the  mercy  of  his  companions ;  and 
being  somewhat  sensible  of  this,  he  tries  to  make 
up  for  strength  of  belief,  by  energy  of  assevera- 
tion. Nevertheless,  he  betrays  himself  at  every 
step ;  for  this  is  one  of  those  things  which  can- 
not be  hidden.  Vane  takes  up  his  opinions  on 
trade,  politics,  and  religion,  at  second-hand.  The 
task  of  reasoning,  he  resigns  to  Briggs,  the  post- 
master, and  Brag,  the  apothecary,  who  are  his 
cronies.  He  never  sits  down  to  think  any  thing 
out,  and,  therefore,  he  is  never  long  of  one  mind. 
For  when  opinions  come  lightly,  they  will  go 
lightly.  They  are  trees  without  roots,  easily 
transplanted  or  blown  down ;  reeds  shaken  with 
the  wind  ;  weathercocks  turning  with  every  breath. 
There  is  scarcely  one  of  Vane's  opinions  which 
his  neighbours  could  not  alter.  His  mind  takes 
hold  of  truth  with  a  paralytic  grasp.  True,  this 
is  sometimes  amiable ;  but  for  the  purpose  of  life, 


THE    UNSTABLE    WOKKING-MAN.         251 

it  is  even  worse  than  obstinacy :  just  as  granite, 
however  hard,  is  more  useful  than  friable  sand- 
stone.    So  much  for  his  opinions. 

It  is  just  the  same  with  his  feelings.  Never 
have  I  seen  an  April  sky  so  changeable  as  his 
temper.  His  tears  and  his  laughter,  his  frowns 
and  his  caresses,  maybe,  at  any  moment,  exchanged 
for  one  another.  He  shows  this  in  his  attach- 
ments. He  rushes  into  new  associations,  to  rush 
as  quickly  out  of  them.  I  have  observed  him 
for  a  few  months  together,  and"  ever  and  anon  I 
find  him  with  new  faces.  I  own  it  is  the  same  as 
to  his  malignant  feelings ;  he  cannot  hold  spite ; 
but  still,  with  such  fickleness,  he  never  can  be  a 
man  of  strength,  either  for  good  or  evil. 

It  is  the  same  with  his  habits.  Vane  never 
walks  long  enough  in  any  one  direction  to  wear  a 
track.  He  breaks  down  in  his  journey,  for  want 
of  patience.  He  is  driven  out  of  the  road,  for 
want  of  courage.  I  should  as  little  expect  to  find 
him  two  successive  days  in  the  same  state,  as  to 
see  the  moon  rise  for  two  nights  at  the  same  hour. 

I  have  more  serious  things  to  say.  Vane  is 
unstable  in  his  principles.  By  a  man  of  prin- 
ciple, I  mean  one  who  acts  for  reasons,  which  he 
can  show  and  defend.  What  he  does,  he  has  be- 
fore resolved  to  do.  He  lias  made  up  his  mind 
as  to  the  right  and  wrong  of  actions  before  he  is 
brought  to  trial.  Such  a  man  is  not  Harry  Vane. 
He  lacks  the  very  thing  which  distinguishes  the 
man  of  principle,  namely,  perseverance  in  a  de- 


252  THE    WORKING-MAN. 

termined  course.  On  one  day  he  seems  quite 
correct,  the  next  almost  dissolute.  To-night  he 
plays  cards :  to-morrow,  he  will  join  the  temper- 
ance society.  And  this  because  he  has  no  govern- 
ing principle. 

It  was  good  advice  which  a  father  once  gave  to 
his  boy  :  "  My  son,  learn  to  say  no."  There  is 
as  much  energy  in  this  short  word,  as  in  any  ex- 
pression in  human  language.  But  what  object  is 
more  pitiable,  than  the  poor,  pliant  young  man, 
who  cannot  stand  out  against  the  gentlest  wind  of 
temptation,  or  resist  the  sneer  or  the  entreaty  of 
bad  companions  !  I  have  often  thought,  therefore, 
that  there  is  as  much  greatness  as  safety,  in  com- 
plying with  the  caution  :  "  My  son,  when  sinners 
entice  thee,  consent  tliou  not."  Better  far  would 
it  be  for  our  youth,  if  they  would  barter  away  a 
good  portion  of  pompous  swagger  and  braggart 
imbecility,  for  the  quiet  dignity  of  that  firmness 
which  will  not  yield  an  inch  to  the  importunity 
of  vice. 

Let  me  return  to  my  subject.  I  have  spoken 
of  the  opinions,  the  feelings,  and  the  habits  of 
Harry  Vane.  Answerable  to  these  is  his  universal 
conduct.  He  is  in  every  circumstance  of  his  life 
a  poor  fickle  young  man.  In  labour,  in  amuse- 
ment, in  friendship,  he  is  still  the  same.  He  forgets 
that  what  he  is  becoming  now,  he  will  be  for  life. 
He  is  quick,  amiable,  and  generous,  but  lie  is  un- 
stable, and  this  gives  a  sickly  hue  to  his  whole 
constitution.     He  begins  a   thousand  things;   he 


THE    UNSTABLE    WORKING-MAN.         253 

begins  them  with  zeal,  with  enthusiasm,  with  ex- 
pectation, perhaps  with  rapture — but  he  ends  none 
of  them.  Vane's  life,  so  far  as  I  can  see,  is  likely 
to  be  a  series  of  abandoned  enterprises.  He  may 
talk  big,  and  play  the  man  ;  but,  like  the  bells  on 
a  fool's  cap,  his  actions  betray  him  at  every 
motion. 

I  wish  every  young  reader  of  this  page  would 
for  a  moment  lay  aside  the  book,  and  ask  himself 
how  nearly  he  resembles  Harry  Vane.  There  is 
great  room  for  self-deception  here.  The  evil  in 
question  is  often  allied  with  some  of  the  gentler 
traits  of  character.  Arising  from  a  certain  soft- 
ness, it  easily  couples  itself  with  pity,  mildness, 
benevolence,  and  even  generosity.  But  do  not 
err ;  unless  you  can  end  your  day  as  you  begin 
it ;  unless  you  can  begin  the  same  thing  a  hun- 
dred times  over ;  unless  you  can  bid  defiance  to 
weariness  and  sloth ;  unless  you  can  be  for  a 
thousand  days  what  you  are  the  first  of  them ;  un- 
less you  can  bear  and  forbear,  and  resist  beseech- 
ings,  and  example,  and  raillery,  and  neglect,  you 
may,  indeed,  be  an  agreeable  lady's  companion ; 
you  may  be  esteemed  in  the  little  circle  of  your 
friends ;  you  may  be  popular  among  those  who 
bend  your  flexible  will  to  their  own  purposes ;  but 
you  must  forever  forsake  the  expectation  of  being 
manly,  influential,  or  truly  great  and  useful.  Let 
me  dwell  a  minute  or  two  on  this. 

Fickleness  is  usually  accompanied  by  other  bad 
traits.  Certain  vices  grow  in  clusters.  If  yoa 
22 


254  THE    WORKING-MAN. 

are  fickle,  I  shall  expect  to  find  you  a  superficial 
reasoner.  The  unsteady  man  is  frequently^ 
though  not  always — timid.  A  measure  of  irreso- 
lution is  certainly  implied.  Resolved  purpose 
cannot  be  expected  in  him  who  is  perpetually 
changing.  In  the  same  bed  of  noxious  weeds, 
springs  up  indolence  in  all  its  forms.  As  there  is 
a  want  of  self-reliance,  there  will  be  a  disposition 
to  lean  upon  others.  As  there  is  lack  of  prin- 
ciple, there  will  be  many  violations  of  duty. 

All  great  works  are  accomplished  by  constancy. 
Perseverance  in  labour  wears  away  rocks,  chan- 
nels our  plains,  tunnels  our  mountains ;  and  this 
perseverance  is  produced  and  insured  by  uniformity 
of  judgment  and  of  passion.  The  unstable  have 
no  unity  of  plan.  A  thousand  threads  are  spun 
for  a  little  distance,  only  to  be  snapped  and  ex- 
changed for  others.  Great  men  of  every  age 
whether  scholars,  statesmen,  soldiers,  or  philan 
thropists,  have  been  men  of  decision,  of  con 
stancy,  of  single  purpose.  Such  men  were  New 
ton,  Washington,  Watt,  and  Fulton. 

Where  fickleness  predominates,  there  will  al- 
ways be  a  general  debility  of  character.  Say  that 
a  youth  is  changeable,  and  by  that  word  you  fix 
on  him  a  stigma  of  weakness  and  meanness.  It 
matters  little  what  is  his  trade  or  employment. 
There  are  no  employments  which  do  not  demand 
uniformity  and  constancy  of  efibrt.  Moreover,  it 
is  a  blemish  which  cannot  be  concealed :  the 
world  will  know  it ;  and  this  is  a  matter  on  which 


THE    UNSTABLE    WORKING-MAN.  255 

the  world  judges  aright.  Whatever  may  be  the 
reigning  enterprise,  the  fickle  man  is  thought  unfit 
for  it.  Are  important  plans  on  foot  ?  he  is  sure 
to  be  left  out.  No  one  will  embark  on  a  vessel 
without  rudder,  without  anchor,  without  ballast, 
without  pilot, — which  can  do  nothing  but  go  be- 
fore the  wind.  But  such  is  the  fickle  man.  He 
is  unsafe  in  every  emergency,  because  he  may 
change  his  mind  before  the  work  is  even  begun ; 
and  he  is  prone  to  be  the  slave  of  other  men's 
opinions.  And,  by  the  rebound  of  public  opinion, 
the  unstable  man  sometimes  gains  a  view  of  his 
own  weaknesses,  and  is  filled  with  self-contempt. 
For,  as  I  have  hinted  above,  he  is  not  necessarily 
a  fool ;  nay,  he  may  be  clever  and  ingenious  ;  he 
may  have  candour  and  generosity,  and  every  thing 
except  the  manly  virtues.  But,  wanting  these,  and 
sensible  of  the  great  defect,  and  shocked  by  the 
contrast  of  nobler  minds,  he  shrinks  from  the 
view,  and  often  retires  from  attempting  any  thing 
worthy  of  notice. 

There  is  nothing  in  which  the  unstable  man 
meets  with  more  losses  than  in  the  affairs  of 
morals  and  religion.  There  are  many  who  have 
begun  very  well,  have  entered  the  Christian  course 
with  great  alacrity,  but  have  fallen  out  during  the 
race.  If  it  were  as  easy  to  complete  as  to  begin, 
most  of  us  would  do  well.  Some  will,  perhaps, 
read  these  lines,  who  have  lost  all  the  religious 
emotions  which  once  possessed  their  minds,  and 
who  are  likely  to  be  the  victims  of  instability.    .; 


256  THE    WORKING-MAN. 

As  was  said  before,  if  this  great  error  is  ever 
amended,  it  must  be  in  youth  ;  and  to  be  amended 
it  must  be  detected.  Some  will  tell  us  it  is  all  in 
natural  temperament,  or  in  the  organs  of  the  brain ; 
and  it  cannot  be  denied  that  there  are  great  differ- 
ences in  the  constitutions  of  men  :  all  are  not 
moulded  of  the  same  clay.  Yet  here,  as  in  a 
thousand  similar  instances,  the  pains  of  education, 
and  especially  of  self-control,  are  not  in  vain. 
Even  a  bad  constitution  may  be  kept  alive  and 
strengthened,  which,  if  let  alone,  would  soon  go 
to  ruin. 

It  is  the  ruinous  mistake  of  many  to  suppose 
that  mere  talent  can  insure  success  without  con- 
stancy and  perseverance.  One  of  the  most  inge- 
nious men  I  have  ever  known,  is  at  the  same  time 
the  most  useless  member  of  society.  With  abili- 
ties which  might  have  made  his  fortune  long  ago, 
he  is  little  above  the  condition  of  a  pauper.  At  a 
very  early  age  he  was  apprenticed  to  a  cabinet- 
maker, with  whom  he  served  about  half  his  time, 
and  learned  the  simpler  operations.  During  this 
time,  however,  he  invented  a  machine  for  making 
sausages,  for  which  he  received  a  handsome  sum 
from  a  neighbouring  butcher.  It  is  hard  to  say 
what  trade  he  is  of,  for  he  plies  almost  every  sort 
of  handicraft.  I  lately  consulted  him  about  a 
crazy  bathing-tub,  but  found  that  he  had  ceased  to 
be  a  cooper,  and  was  manufacturing  shoemakers' 
lasts.  He  has  made  reeds  for  weavers,  bird-cages, 
and  wire-safes ;  he  has  taken  out  several  patents 


THE    UNSTABLE    WORKING-MAN.  257 

for  churns,  and  has  even  tinkered  a  little  about 
clocks  and  watches.  But,  then,  his  patents  do 
him  no  good,  for  he  has  not  resolution  to  fulfil  his 
orders,  and  his  occupations  are  so  various  that  no 
one  knows  where  to  find  him.  Yet  I  never  met 
with  any  who  did  not  grant  that  this  same  fellow 
was  one  of  the  greatest  mechanical  geniuses  in 
our  neighbourhood.  But  mere  cleverness,  without 
strength  of  character,  can  never  make  a  man  re- 
spectable, useful,  or  happy. 


258  THE    WORKING-MAN. 


•  XLI. 

THE    working-man's    GOOD    WORKS. 

"  Let  humble  Allen,  with  an  awkward  shame, 
Do  good  by  stealth,  and  blush  to  find  it  fame." 

Pope. 

It  is  an  unwilling  tribute  to  moral  principle, 
that  even  the  most  hardened  of  our  race  dislike 
to  be  called  selfish.  It  needs  little  instruction 
and  little  philosophy  to  show  a  man  that  he  does 
not  live  entirely  for  his  own  interest;  and  the 
slightest  experience  is  sufficient  to  prove  that  he 
who  tries  to  do  so  offends  against  his  own  happi- 
ness. The  person  who  cares  for  nobody  but 
himself,  is  in  every  sense  a  wretch,  and  so  glaring 
is  this  wretchedness  in  the  case  of  the  money- 
slave,  that  we  have  borrowed  a  word  of  this  im- 
port from  Latin,  and  call  him  a  miser. 

From  their  earliest  years,  our  children  should 
be  taught  this  simple  but  invaluable  lesson,  that 
benevolence  is  bliss.  Do  good  and  be  happy. 
We  are  most  like  God,  the  happiest  of  all  beings, 
when  we  are  most  beneficent.  In  pursuance  of 
this,  I  would  bring  up  my  child  to  feel  that  his 
cake,  or  his  penny,  or  his  orange  was  to  be  shared  ; 
that  for  this  purpose  it  is  given ;  and  that  he  fails 


THE  working-man's  GOOD  WORKS.     259 

of  his  pleasure  if  this  end  is  not  attained.  I  would 
make  it  one  of  his  chief  rewards  to  carry  aid  to 
the  poor,  and  would  give  him  an  early  chance  of 
being  my  almoner.  And  when  fit  opportunities 
occurred,  I  would  take  him  with  me  to  see  for 
himself  the  happiness  effected  by  his  own  little 
gifts.  For  it  is  apt  to  slip  from  our  thoughts  that 
in  moral  as  well  as  in  intellectual  principles  and 
habits,  the  mind  is  made  by  education.  Con- 
science and  the  affections  are  almost  latent  in  the 
savage,  or  the  London  thief,  or  the  young  slave- 
trader;  and  a  child  bred  in  the  forest  would  be 
only  above  the  ourang-outang,  in  morals  as  in 
reason.  A  difference  not  so  great,  yet  by  no 
means  unimportant,  is  to  be  observed  in  the 
children  of  different  families,  in  respect  to  kind- 
ness of  feeling  and  beneficence  of  action.  Let 
us  aim  to  bring  up  our  little  ones  to  deeds  of 
mercy. 

Do  we,  however,  who  are  parents,  teach  them 
by  example  ?  Have  we  any  plans  for  doing  good? 
Are  we  not  quite  content  to  let  days  roll  by,  in 
which  we  have  not  conferred  a  real  benefit  on  any 
fellow-creature  ?  Is  the  impression  deep  in  our 
own  minds,  that  there  is  a  luxury  in  doing  good, 
and  that  it  is  its  own  reward  ?  Benevolence 
should  be  cherished  by  contemplating  the  charac- 
ters of  such  as  have  acquired  the  blessed  reputa- 
tion of  philanthropists :  though  there  are  thou- 
sands who  never  have  the  name,  becau^ip  they 
have  modestly  shunned  the  publicity. 


260  THE    WORKING-MAN. 

Travellers  in  Herefordshire  are  still  shown  the 
arm-chair  of  John  Kyrle,  the  original  of  Pope's 
"  Man  of  Ross."  Of  his  history  not  much  caa 
be  recovered,  and  this  little  is  preserved  entirely 
by  the  memorials  of  his  good  deeds  ;  for  he  lives 
in  the  recollection  of  the  poor  in  that  neighbour- 
hood. He  does  not  seem  to  have  been  remarfc* 
able  for  any  thing  but  his  beneficence.  As  we 
learn,  on  good  authority,  that  the  celebrated  lines 
of  the  poet  are  not  exaggerated,  ve  prefer  his 
elegant  description  to  any  thing  of  our  own : 

"  But  all  our  praises  why  should  lords  engross  T 
Rise,  honest  Muse !  and  sing  the  Man  of  Ross. 
Pleased  Vaga  echoes  through  her  winding  bounds, 
And  rapid  Severn  hoarse  applause  resounds. 
Whose  causeway  parts  the  vale  with  shady  rows  1 
Whose  seats  the  weary  traveller  repose  1 
Who  taught  that  heaven-directed  spire  to  rise  1 
'  The  Man  of  Ross,'  each  lisping  babe  replies. 
Behold  the  market-place,  with  poor  o'erspread ; 
The  Man  of  Ross  divides  the  weekly  bread ; 
He  feeds  yon  alms-house,  neat,  but  void  of  state, 
Where  age  and  want  sit  smiling  at  the  gate ; 
Him  portion'd  maids,  apprenticed  orphans  bless'd. 
The  young  who  labour,  and  the  old  who  rest. 
Is  any  sick  1 — the  Man  of  Ross  relieves,  y 

Prescribes,  attends,  the  medicine  makes  and  gives. 
Is  there  a  variance  1 — enter  but  his  door, 
Balk'd  are  the  courts,  and  contest  is  no  more. 
O  say,  what  sums  that  generous  hand  supply  1 
What  mines,  to  swell  that  boundless  charity  ? 
Of  debt  and  taxes,  wife  and  cliildren  clear. 
That  man  possess'd — five  hundred  pounds  a  year.' 


THE  working-man's  GOOD  WORKS.      261 

In  his  own  particular  sphere,  and  with  due 
allowance  made  for  circumstances,  every  man 
who  has  a  little  substance  and  a  little  leisure,  may 
be  a  Man  of  Ross.  "  The  most  worthless,"  it 
has  been  said,  "  have  at  times,  moments  in  which 
they  wish  to  rise  out  of  the  slough  of  their  pas- 
sions, and  be  beneficially  employed ;  and  many 
of  the  best  lose  opportunities  of  effecting  much, 
by  neglecting  the  common  materials  within  their 
reach  and  aspiring  to  what  is  beyond  them."  I 
have  known  weakly  benevolent  persons  to  sigh 
for  occasions  of  usefulness,  when  widows  and 
orphans  were  suffering  the  extremities  of  want 
within  a  few  hundred  yards  of  their  dwellings. 

I  have  often.stood  in  amazement  at  the  number 
of  beneficent  acts  which  my  friend  Joseph  Pitson 
will  accomplish,  without  taking  away  any  thing 
considerable  from  his  daily  labours.  He  succeeds 
in  this  by  husbanding  his  moments,  watching  for 
opportunities,  and  seizing  upon  them  the  instant 
they  appear.  But  it  is  genuine  benevolence 
which  gives  him  this  alacrity.  Among  a  thousand 
objects  presented  to  his  attention,  Joseph's  eye 
singles  out  at  a  glance  that  to  which  he  can  be 
useful ;  if  the  comparison  is  not  out  of  place,  just 
as  the  bird  of  prey  pounces  upon  its  quarry. 
When,  not  long  since,  I  spent  one  or  two  days 
together  with  him  in  settling  the  affairs  of  a  de- 
ceased friend's  estate,  I  was  often  called  to  won- 
der at  the  multiplicity  of  his  acts  of  kindness. 
On  one  day  in  particular,  he  was  perpetually  fly- 


262  THE    WORKING-MAN. 

ing  from  business  to  charity,  and  yet  not  appa- 
rently to  the  disadvantage  of  either.  When 
breakfast  was  over,  he  had  two  plates  and  as 
many  bowls  of  coffee  despatched  to  the  sick 
father  of  one  of  his  apprentices.  Shortly  after, 
he  stole  ten  minutes  to  run  across  the  way,  to 
arrange  something  towards  a  Temperance  meeting 
in  the  evening,  and  to  drop  three  tracts  into  as 
many  country  market-carts.  A  woman  called 
him  out  to  ask  advice  about  a  drunken  son,  who 
had  been  arrested  in  a  riot.  Then  he  had  notices 
to  sign  as  chairman  of  a  committee  respecting  the 
improvement  of  schools.  These  did  not  alto- 
gether take  up  more  of  his  time  than  the  filling 
and  smoking  of  three  or  four  pipes  would  of  my 
old  friend  Stith's.  While  I  was  at  my  dinner, 
Joseph  had  walked  half  a  mile  to  see  about  the 
indentures  of  widow  Jones's  boy,  and  had  his 
meal  into  the  bargain.  In  the  afternoon  he  made 
his  wife  accomplish  almost  as  much  more,  and  I 
sat  down  with  him  at  tea  in  company  with  three 
or  four  religious  friends  from  a  distance,  who 
were  sharing  his  hospitality,  and  who  were  to  be 
present  at  the  meeting  after  dark. 

I  wish  what  I  am  saying  might  induce  the 
reader  of  these  pages  to  lay  down  the  book  for  a 
moment,  and  to  ask  himself  these  questions  :  Am 
I  doing  any  good  in  the  world  ?  What  proportion 
of  my  gains  do  I  allot  to  acts  of  charity  ?  Am  I 
active  in  giving  personally  to  the  relief  of  those 
whom  I  hear  to  be  in  distress  ?     Do  I  take  any 


tHE  WOHKINQ-MAn's  GOOD  WORKS.     263 

pains  to  seek  out  such  cases  ?  What  poor,  or 
otherwise  suffering  persons,  are  there  in  my  im- 
mediate neighbourhood,  to  whom  I  have  never 
extended  any  relief?  A  little  self-catechising  of 
this  sort  would  not  be  thrown  away,  now  and 
then,  upon  the  best  of  us. 

The  saying  of  the  wise  man  is  remarkable : 
"  There  is  that  scattereth,  and  yet  increaseth ;  and 
there  is  that  withholdeth  more  than  is  meet,  but 
it  tendeth  to  poverty."  Tithe,  and  be  rich,  is  the 
Jewish  proverb.  "  I  am  verily  persuaded,"  says 
Gouge,  a  writer  of  the  seventeenth  century,  "  that 
there  is  scarcely  any  man  who  gives  to  the  poor 
proportionably  to  what  God  has  bestowed  on  him; 
but,  if  he  observe  the  dealings  of  God's  provi- 
dence toward  him,  will  find  the  same  doubled  and 
redoubled  upon  him  in  temporal  blessings.  I 
dare  challenge  all  the  world  to  produce  one  in- 
stance (or  at  least  any  considerable  number  of  in- 
stances) of  a  merciful  man,  whose  charity  has 
undone  him.  On  the  contrary,  as  the  more  the 
living  wells  are  exhausted,  the  more  freely  they 
spring  and  flow,  so  the  substance  of  charitable 
men  frequently  multiplies  in  the  very  distribution: 
even  as  the  five  loaves  and  few  fishes  multiplied, 
while  being  broken  and  distributed,  and  as  the 
widow's  oil  increased  by  being  poured  nut  " 


264  THE    WORKING-MAN. 


XLII. 

THE    working-man's    REST. 

"  0,  day  most  calm,  most  bright ! 
The  fruit  of  this,  the  next  world's  bud ; 
Th'  endorsement  of  supreme  delight, 

Writ  by  a  friend,  and  with  his  blood ; 
The  couch  of  time  ;  care's  balm  and  bay : 
The  week  were  dark,  but  for  thy  hght ; 
Thy  torch  doth  show  the  way." 

Hehbert. 

There  is  no  engine  which  can  work  forever. 
There  must  be  intermissions  to  oil  the  joints  and 
wheels,  and  supply  the  losses  by  wear  and  tear. 
Not  even  the  human  frame,  the  most  wonderful 
and  complete  of  all  machines,  can  do  its  work 
without  some  remission.  It  is  so  constituted  as 
to  require  the  supplies  of  food  and  sleep,  at  least 
once  every  twenty-four  hours.  But  something 
more  than  this  is  needed.  After  several  days  of 
toil,  both  the  body  and  the  mind  ask  for  respite. 
It  is  too  much  to  have  all  our  powers  and  all  our 
thoughts  day  after  day  and  month  after  month 
bent  intensely  upon  the  same  object.  Either  body 
or  mind,  or  both  together,  must  infallibly  break 
down  under  such  a  strain. 


THE    working-man's   REST.  265 

Our  beneficent  Creator  has  kindly  provided  for 
this  necessity  of  nature,  by  the  institution  of  the 
Sabbath,  which  is  older  than  Christianity,  and 
older  than  the  Mosaic  law  ;  having  been  ordained 
immediately  after  the  creation.  It  is  set  apart  as 
a  day  of  rest,  which  the  name  imports ;  a  day  of 
devotion,  of  instruction,  and  of  mercy.  If  it  is  a 
mercy  to  the  world  at  large,  it  is  a  seven-fold 
mercy  to  the  working-man,  who  cannot  possibly 
thrive  without  this,  or  some  similar  refreshment. 
The  beast  of  burden  sinks  under  perpetual  loads, 
and  the  law  of  the  human  constitution  is  just  as 
binding,  which  enjoins  periodical  and  sufficient 
rest. 

Men  may  try  to  brave  the  authority  of  heaven ; 
but  they  do  it  to  their  own  great  loss,  even  in  a 
worldly  point  of  view.  Take  one  week  with 
another,  and  the  man  who  works  seven  days  ac- 
complishes no  more  than  he  who  works  six. 
Careful  observers  tell  us,  that  they  never  knew 
any  one  to  grow  rich  by  Sunday  labour. 

It  is  strange  that  any  arguments  should  be 
needed  in  behalf  of  the  Sabbath.  Every  thing 
that  accompanies  it  is  delightful.  The  hum,  and 
whirl,  and  crash  of  business  come  to  an  end. 
Serene  repose  broods  over  the  face  of  nature. 
Families  separated  during  the  week,  now  come 
together ;  and  parents  greet  their  sons  and  daugh- 
ters. The  very  cleanliness  which  the  Sabbath 
brings  with  it  has  a  charm.  Even  the  poorest 
who  observe  the  day,  are  now  in  their  best  ap- 
23 


266  THE    WORKING-MAN. 

parel ;  and  I  am  one  of  those  who  believe  that 
to  be  neat  and  tidy  has  a  decided  moral  influence. 
As  the  tradesman  or  the  mechanic,  who  has  been 
confined  for  some  days,  walks  abroad,  leading  his 
little  ones  to  the  Sunday-school  or  the  church,  he 
feels  a  complacency  which  nothing  else  could 
produce.  If  his  turn  is  serious,  he  will  be  led  to 
contemplate  the  Creator  in  his  works ;  and,  espe- 
cially in  the  fairer  seasons  of  the  year,  to  rejoice 
with  rejoicing  nature. 

But  it  is  at  church  that  we  discern  the  greatest 
advantages  of  the  Sabbath.  There  is  a  little  com- 
munity met  in  their  best  suit,  in  their  best  humour, 
for  the  most  important  business  of  the  week.  If 
it  is  in  the  country,  the  scene  is  often  enchanting. 
The  old  church  stands  on  some  eminence,  sur- 
rounded by  ancient  trees,  beneath  which  are  scat- 
tered the  grassy  mounds  that  mark  the  resting- 
place  of  the  dead.  Friends  are  now  exchanging 
kind  looks  and  salutations,  who  meet  at  no  other 
time  during  the  week.  There  is  scarcely  a  dull 
eye  or  a  lack-lustre  face  among  the  groups  which 
crown  every  knoll  of  the  wide  enclosure.  So 
that,  long  before  public  worship  begins,  there  is 
a  benign,  moral  influence  at  work.  How  much 
more  pure  and  genial  is  the  social  spirit  thus 
awakened  than  that  which  is  engendered  at  wakes, 
auctions,  and  town-meetings :  and  how  little  real 
community  of  feeling  would  there  be  in  a  neigh- 
bourhood where  there  was  no  such  weekly 
gathering ! 


THE    working-man's    REST.  267 

But  enter  the  house  of  God,  and  catch  the  im- 
pression of  the  sacred  scene.  The  vision  of  the 
poet  is  realized : 

"  Fast  the  church-yard  fills ;  anon 
Look  again,  and  they  are  gone ; 
The  cluster  round  the  porch,  and  the  folk 
Who  sat  in  the  shade  of  the  prior's  oak ! 
And  scarcely  have  they  disappear'd 
Ere  the  prelusive  hymn  is  heard  : — 
With  one  consent  the  people  rejoice. 
Filling  the  church  with  a  lofty  voice, 
A  moment  ends  the  fervent  din, 
And  all  is  hush'd  without  and  within."* 

Who  can  calculate  the  softening,  elevating,  hal- 
lowing influences  of  such  a  service  once  every 
week !  Fifty-two  Sundays,  every  year,  is  this 
custom  spreading  its  blessed  fruits  of  peace  and 
good  order.  Consider  next  the  instructions  of  this 
sacred  season.  "  Here,"  says  a  popular  writer, 
"  on  a  day  devoted  to  no  employment  but  the 
gaining  of  this  knowledge,  and  the  performance 
of  those  religious  duties  which  unite  with  it  in 
perfect  harmony  ;  in  a  place  convenient  and 
sacred ;  on  an  occasion  infinitely  important ;  and 
with  the  strong  power  of  sympathy  to  aid  and 
impress  ;  a  thousand  persons  are  taught  the  best 
of  all  knowledge ;  the  most  useful  to  themselves 
and  the  most  beneficial  to  mankind ;  for  a  less 
sum  than  must  be  expended  by  a  twentieth  part 

•  Wordsworth.  ' 


268  THE    WOKKIXG-MAN. 

of  their  number  in  order  to  obtain  the  same  in- 
struction in  any  other  science.  No  device  of 
the  heathen  philosophers,  or  of  modern  infidels, 
greatly  as  they  have  boasted  of  their  wisdom,  can 
be  compared,  as  to  its  usefulness,  with  this.  The 
Sabbath,  particularly,  is  the  only  means  ever  de- 
vised of  communicating  important  instruction  to 
the  great  mass  of  mankind." 

For  these  reasons  the  habit  of  church-going  is 
of  great  value  to  every  man,  and  above  all  price 
to  such  as  have  not  received  a  thorough  education. 
I  like  to  see  the  head  of  a  family  bringing  all  his 
household  to  public  worship  :  children  cannot 
begin  too  soon  to  enjoy  so  gi*eat  a  blessing. 

The  afternoon  and  evening  of  Sunday  afford  a 
favourable  opportunity  for  the  religious  instruction 
of  children  and  dependants.  In  the  stricter  sort  of 
old  families  this  was  as  regular  a  thing  as  the  return 
of  the  day.  There  are  good  occasions  also  for  the 
reading  of  the  Scriptures  and  of  other  good  books. 
Happy  is  that  domestic  circle  where  this  has  been 
the  habit  of  every  member  from  his  childhood. 

What  time  can  be  more  favourable  than  this  for 
acts  of  mercy !  From  the  smallest  gains  some- 
thing may  be  laid  by,  on  the  first  day  of  the  week, 
for  the  poor,  or  for  benevolent  institutions.  It  is 
really  surprising  to  observe  how  much  more  men 
will  give  in  the  course  of  a  year  in  this  way, 
than  by  random  gifts  of  large  amount. 

He  who  enters  at  all  into  the  spirit  of  what  I 
have  written,  will  not  need  to  be  warned  against 


THE    WORKING-MAN  S    HEST.  26^9 

Sunday  dinners,  visits  to  public  gardens,  rides  or 
drives  into  the  country,  or  any  of  the  varieties  of 
profane  dissipation.  Sir  Matthew  Hale  is  reported 
to  have  said,  that  during  a  long  life  he  had  ob- 
served the  success  of  his  weeks  to  turn  out  well 
or  ill,  according  as  he  had  observed  or  neglected 
the  Lord's-day.  ^<J  i-' 


S70  THE    WORKING-MAN, 

I-: 
t. 

XLIII. 

THE  WOHKINO-MAN   RETIRED  PROM  BUSINESS. 

"  O  bless'd  retirement,  friend  to  life's  decline, 
Retreats  from  care,  that  never  must  be  mine, 
How  happy  he  who  crowns,  in  shades  like  these, 
A  yputh  of  labour  with  an  age  of  ease." 

GOLSSUITH. 

An  elderly  man  once  expressed  to  me  his  sense 
of  declining  life,  by  saying,  "  My  birth-days 
begin  to  come  very  fast."  The  years  seem  to 
run  round  faster  as  they  approach  their  close  ;  so 
that  it  is  a  common  saying  among  the  aged,  that 
time  flies  much  more  rapidly  than  when  they  were 
young.  Every  gray  hair,  every  failing  tooth, 
every  wrinkle,  and  every  decay  of  eyesight,  ought 
to  serve  as  a  gentle  hint,  that  we  are  going  down 
the  hill ;  and  yet  I  believe  there  is  no  one  whom 
old  age  does  not  take  by  surprise.  There  is  a 
fine  moral  in  the  little  poem  of  the  Three  TVarn- 
ings  ;  those  of  us  who  begin  to  be  shy  of  telling 
our  age  would  do  well  to  read  it. 

At  this  period  of  life,  particularly  where  a  man 
has  had  some  prosperity,  it  is  natural  to  think  of 
retiring  from  business.  What  can  be  more  rea- 
sonable than  to  desist  from  labour  when  the  ne- 


RETIRED    FROM    BUSINESS.  271 

cessity  for  it  is  at  an  end,  or  to  close  the  journey- 
when  the  end  has  been  attained  ?  This  would  be 
unanswerable,  if  the  only  end  of  labour  and  occu- 
pation was  to  make  money :  and  though  avarice 
would  cling  to  the  last  possibility  of  turning  a 
penny,  every  man  of  liberal  feeling  would  be 
ready  to  cease  when  he  has  got  enough,  and  to 
leave  the  field  open  for  younger  competitors.  But 
there  is  a  consideration  of  great  importance  which 
is  too  often  left  out,  in  this  inquiry :  I  invite  to  it 
the  serious  attention  of  all  elderly  mechanics. 
After  fifteen  or  twenty  years  of  labour,  occupa- 
tion becomes  necessary  to  one's  comfort.  This 
arises  from  a  law  of  our  constitution.  Few  men 
can  break  off  a  habit  of  long  standing  with  im- 
punity, unless  it  be  a  habit  which  is  injurious  in 
itself. 

There  is  an  illusion  in  most  cases  of  sudden  re- 
tirement from  business  of  any  kind.  The  veteran, 
when  he  lays  down  his  arms,  dreams  of  perfect 
peace :  he  finds  ennui  and  satiety.  When  from 
ill-health  or  great  infirmity  there  is  no  fitness  for 
employment,  nothing  can  be  said ;  but  I  would 
warn  all  working-men  against  retiring  unadvisedly. 
Charles  Lamb's  admirable  sketch  of  the  "  Super- 
annuated Man,"  is  a  case  in  point.  At  first  there 
will  be  a  feeling  of  release  and  exemption,  as  if 
a  great  burden  had  been  thrown  off;  but  after- 
wards, unless  where  there  are  great  mental  re- 
sources, the  mind  will  turn  upon  itself. 

Instances  will  occur  to  every  observing  reader 


272  THE  working-man; 

of  men  who  have  become  miserable  from  this  very 
cause.  A  highly  respectable  man  of  my  ac- 
quaintance, who  united  the  pursuits  of  agriculture 
and  trade,  found  himself  rich  enough  at  threescore 
to  give  up  both  employments.  He  retired  to  a 
snug  little  retreat  to  spend  the  remainder  of  his 
days  in  repose.  But  he  soon  began  to  miss  the  ex- 
citement of  regular  business.  His  hours  were  now 
empty  alike  of  work  and  pleasure,  and  as  dull  as  a 
boy's  solitary  holiday.  He  longed  for  the  counter 
and  the  plough.  At  length  he  fell  into  a  most  de- 
plorable melancholy,  which  lasted  for  some  years. 
If  there  is  the  slightest  tendency  to  drink,  it  is 
apt  to  manifest  itself  at  this  critical  season.  Where 
the  consequences  are  not  so  serious,  how  often  do 
we  see  the  retired  mechanic  gloomily  revisiting 
his  old  haunts,  pacing  about  the  street  with  a  dis- 
consolate air,  and  envying  every  wliistling  appren- 
tice that  he  meets.  The  following  instance  is  given 
by  Dr.  Johnson :  "  An  eminent  tallow-chandler  in 
London,  who  had  acquired  a  considerable  forlune, 
gave  up  the  trade  in  favour  of  his  foreman,  and 
went  to  live  at  a  country-house  near  town.  He 
soon  grew  weary,  and  paid  frequent  visits  to  his 
old  shop,  where  he  desired  they  might  let  him 
know  their  melting-days,  and  he  would  come  and 
assist  them ;  which  he  accordingly  did.  Here 
was  a  man  to  whom  tlie  most  disgusting  circum- 
stances in  the  business  to  which  he  had  been  used 
was  a  relief  from  idleness." 
This  change  should  be  made,  if  possible,  by 


RETIRED    FROM    BUSINESS.  273 

slow  degrees,  and  the  reins  of  business  should 
not  be  altogether  abandoned  until  several  experi- 
ments shall  have  been  made.  Even  aged  and  in- 
firm men  may  find  great  pleasure  in  some  of  the 
lighter  employments  of  their  trade,  or  in  a  general 
superintendence. 

It  is  in  such  cases  as  this  that  a  little  learning, 
and  a  taste  for  books,  come  admirably  into  play. 
To  have  nothing  to  do  is  the  worst  part  of 
solitary  confinement  in  jails :  give  the  convict 
books,  and  he  would  soon  become  interested  and 
comfortable.  Give  the  old  working-man  his  little 
library,  and  he  will  have  a  solace  for  his  declining 
years. 

But  there  is  another  greater  and  more  certain 
preventive  of  stupor  and  listlessness.  Where 
there  is  a  truly  religious  temper,  old  age  is  de- 
lightful. It  is  natural  and  seemly  that  old  age 
should 

"  Walk  thoughtful  on  the  silent,  solemn  shore 
Of  that  vast  ocean  it  mast  sail  so  soon." 

The  consolations  of  the  gospel  will  cast  broad 
sunshine  over  the  whole  prospect.  The  glow  of 
Christian  love  will  soften  every  asperity,  and 
mellow  those  dispositions  which  old  age  is  apt  to 
sour.  And  if  the  hoary  man  can  take  his  staff, 
and,  with  benignant  affection,  walk  about  among 
children,  grand-children,  old  friends,  and  neigh- 


274  THE    WORKING-MAN. 

bours,  rousing  them  by  his  advice,  instructing 
them  by  his  example,  and  aiding  them  by  his 
charities,  he  may  do  more  good,  and  consequently 
enjoy  more  happiness  in  the  close  of  his  life  than 
in  all  the  vigour  of  his  youth  and  manhood. 


THE  WORKING-MAN  IN  OLD  AGE.       275 


XLIV. 

THE    WORKING-MAN    IN   OLD   AGE. 

"  My  morning  walks  I  now  could  bear  to  lose, 
And  bless'd  the  shower  that  gave  me  not  to  choose : 
In  fact,  I  felt  a  languor  stealing  on ; 
The  active  arm,  the  agile  hand  were  gone ; 
Small  daily  actions  into  habits  grew. 
And  new  dislikes  to  forms  and  fashions  new : 
I  loved  my  trees  in  order  to  dispose, 
I  number'd  peaches,  look'd  how  stocks  arose. 
Told  the  same  story  oft — in  short,  began  to  prose." 

Cbjlbbe. 

In  a  long  sitting  by  our  fireside,  the  other  even- 
ing, I  had  the  whole  subject  of  old  age  discussed 
between  Uncle  Benjamin  and  Mr.  Appletree  ; 
and  some  of  the  results  I  am  disposed  to  set  down, 
without  trying,  however,  to  keep  up  the  form  of 
dialogue,  or  to  trace  every  remark  to  the  respective 
speakers.  Nevertheless,  the  reader  may  rest  as- 
sured, that  whatever  is  matter  of  daily  observa- 
tion, is  from  uncle  Benjamin,  and  whatever  smacks 
of  ancient  times,  from  the  schoolmaster. 

Old  age  takes  men  by  surprise :  this  has  been 
long  observed.  ♦'  No  one,"  says  Pliny,  "  ever 
says,  '  the  storks  are  coming,'  or,  '  they  are  going  ;* 
but  always,  ♦  they  have   come,'  or,   '  they  have 


276  THE    WORKING-MAN. 

gone ;'  for  they  both  come  and  go  secretly,  and 
by  night."  So  it  is  with  old  age :  we  do  not 
perceive  its  approach.  At  length,  however,  the 
head  becomes  cold  from  its  baldness ;  the  last 
stump  forsakes  the  gums ;  it  is  a  labour  to  bend 
the  joints,  to  mount  a  horse,  or  to  go  up  stairs ; 
there  is  a  drumming  in  the  ears,  and  the  eyes 
almost  refuse  the  aid  of  useless  glasses.  And 
then  comes  the  sense  of  decline  ;  it  is  well  called 
the  winter  of  the  year.  "  When  men  wish  for 
old  age,"  says  St.  Augustin,  "  what  do  they  de- 
sire but  a  long  disease  ?" 

A  life  of  moderate  labour,  if  the  habits  are  good 
in  other  respects,  is  one  of  the  best  securities  for 
a  mild  old  age.  But,  in  point  of  fact,  working- 
men  very  seldom  think  it  necessary  to  observe 
caution  in  this  particular  during  their  strong  days, 
and  they  pay  the  penalty  at  the  close  of  life,  in 
stiff  joints,  a  crooked  back,  and  many  pains  and 
infirmities  which  need  not  be  mentioned.  Disease 
and  sorrow  sometimes  sour  the  temper,  and  the 
old  man  becomes  complaining,  peevish,  and 
moody.  The  grasshopper  becomes  a  burden,  and 
fears  increase ;  he  carries  caution  to  the  extreme 
of  timidity,  and  has  a  distressing  irresolution 
about  the  smallest  concerns.  These  evils  are  of 
course  greatly  aggravated  if  he  is  poor,  widowed, 
and  childless.  In  such  a  case,  unless  the  blessings 
of  religion  come  in  to  cheer  the  prospect,  one 
might  almost  see  the  saying  of  Diogenes  made 
true,  that  a  poor  old  man  is  the  most  wretched 


THE    WORKING-MAN    IN    OLD   AGE.      277 

of  mortals.  And  though  I  would  not  say  a  word 
to  inculcate  a  miserly  temper,  it  is  certainly  right 
to  remind  our  young  men,  that  a  youth  of  prodi- 
gality will  have  an  old  age  of  want.  After  a  life 
even  of  laborious  pursuits,  we  sometimes  see  old 
people  in  this  melancholy  condition. 

"  Nor  yet  can  time  itself  obtain  for  these 
Life's  latest  comforts,  due  respect  and  ease ; 
For  yonder  see  that  hoary  swain,  whose  age 
Can  with  no  cares  except  its  own  engage ; 
Who,  propp'd  on  that  rude  staff,  looks  up  to  see 
The  bare  arms  broken  from  the  withering  tree, 
On  which,  a  boy,  he  climb'd  the  loftiest  bough, 
Then  his  first  joy,  but  his  sad  emblem  now." 

This  is  far  from  being  true  of  every  old  man. 
Indeed,  where  there  have  been  habits  of  frugality, 
foresight,  temperance,  and  religion,  old  age  is 
often  like  a  summer's  evening  after  a  day  of  toil. 
Especially  may  it  be  so  to  one  who  has  not  de- 
sisted prematurely  from  active  labours,  and  who 
looks  back  upon  a  long  life  filled  with  industrious 
perseverance  and  useful  deeds.  In  one  of  the 
most  pleasing  chapters  of  Paley's  Natural  Theo- 
logy, that  benevolent  philosopher  cites  the  case 
of  comfortable  old  age  as  remarkably  illustrating 
the  goodness  of  the  Deity.  "  It  is  not  for  youth 
alone,  that  the  great  Parent  of  creation  hath  pro- 
vided. Happiness  is  found  with  the  purring  cat, 
no  less  than  with  the  playful  kitten  ;  in  the  arm- 
chair of  dozing  age,  as  well  as  in  either  the 
24 


278  THE    WORKING-MAN. 

sprightliness  of  the  dance,  or  the  animation  of  the 
chase.  To  novelty,  to  acuteness  of  sensation,  to 
hope,  to  ardour  of  pursuit,  succeeds  what  is,  in 
no  inconsiderable  degree,  an  equivalent  for  them 
all,  '  perception  of  ease.'  Herein  is  the  exact 
difference  between  the  young  and  the  old.  The 
young  are  not  happy,  but  when  enjoying  pleasure; 
the  old  are  happy  when  free  from  pain.  And  this 
constitution  suits  with  the  degree  of  animal  power 
which  they  respectively  possess.  The  vigour  of 
youth  was  to  be  stimulated  to  action  by  impa- 
tience of  rest;  whilst,  to  the  imbecility  of  age, 
quietness  and  repose  become  positive  gratifica- 
tions. In  one  important  respect  the  advantage  is 
with  the  old.  A  state  of  ease  is,  generally  speak- 
ing, more  attainable  than  a  state  of  pleasure.  I 
am  far,  even  as  an  observer  of  human  life,  from 
thinking  that  youth  is  its  happiest  season,  much 
less  the  only  happy  one :  as  a  Christian,  I  am 
willing  to  believe  that  there  is  a  great  deal  of  truth 
in  the  following  representation,  given  by  a  very 
pious  writer,  as  well  as  excellent  man  :*  '  To  the 
intelligent  and  virtuous,  old  age  presents  a  scene 
of  tranquil  enjoyments,  of  obedient  appetites,  of 
well-regulated  affections,  of  maturity  in  know- 
ledge, and  of  calm  preparation  for  immortality.'  " 
Among  the  humbler  circles  of  society,  in  dwell- 
ings seldom  entered  by  the  rich  or  gay,  I  have 
seen  beautiful  examples  of  this.     "What  sight  is 

•  Father's  Instructions,  by  Dr.  Percival. 


THE    WORKING-MAN    IN    OLD   AGE.      279 

more  lovely,  than  that  of  a  gray-haired  father, 
seated  by  the  glowing  hearth,  surrounded  by 
children  and  grand-children,  who  hang  upon  his 
instructions,  and  fly  to  anticipate  his  every  want ! 
"  Children's  children,"  says  Solomon,  "  are  the 
crown  of  old  men."  Where  the  fifth  command- 
ment has  been  inculcated  and  obeyed,  old  age 
derives  many  indescribable  comforts  from  the 
aflfectionate  respect  of  youth.  Among  the  Chi- 
nese, it  is  well  known  that  filial  reverence  is  car- 
ried to  a  degree  little  short  of  religious  worship. 
To  speak  carelessly  to  parents,  is  with  them  a 
heinous  crime ;  to  raise  the  hand  against  them,  a 
capital  one.  Providence  sometimes  repays  men 
in  their  own  coin.  Those  who  have  been  undu- 
tiful  sons,  are  often  made  to  smart  as  neglected 
parents.  There  are  few  spectacles  more  disgrace- 
ful than  that  of  aged  parents  surrounded  by  idle 
sons,  living  upon  their  little  remaining  substance, 
and  clinging  to  them,  not  to  support  them,  but, 
like  parasitical  plants,  to  suck  the  last  juices  from 
their  wasted  trunks.  It  should  be  the  pride  and 
glory  of  youth,  so  far  as  practicable,  to  remove 
every  annoyance  from  the  old  age  of  those  who 
watched  over  their  helpless  childhood.  Let 
parents  see  to  it,  that  they  are  bringing  up  their 
children  in  such  habits  as  are  likely  to  make  them 
a  stay  and  prop  to  their  declining  years. 

Next  to  the  affection  of  his  own  children,  the 
old  man  will  rank  among  his  prerogatives  the 
respect  of  society.     There  is  something  in  the 


2S0  THE    WORKING-MAN. 

sight  of  any  old  man,  even  if  he  is  a  sober  beg- 
gar, which  awakes  ray  respect.  In  some  parts 
of  the  country  it  is,  or  was,  the  custom  to  give  a 
respectful  salutation  to  every  aged  person,  whether 
rich  or  poor,  known  or  unknown.  It  is  a  good 
custom,  and  speaks  well  for  the  social  state  of  the 
land.  I  have  been  told  of  a  gentleman  who  never 
allowed  himself  to  speak  to  an  aged  person  with- 
out being  uncovered.  Such  was  the  Mosaic  law  : 
"  Thou  shalt  rise  up  before  the  hoary  head,  and 
honour  the  face  of  the  old  man,  and  fear  thy  God: 
I  am  the  Lord."*  The  principles  of  the  ancient 
Lacedemonians  were  very  strict  in  this  particular, 
and  such  as  may  put  some  Christians  to  the  blush. 
Their  youth  were  daily  taught  to  reverence  old 
age,  and  to  give  the  proofs  of  it  on  every  suitable 
occasion,  by  making  way  for  them,  yielding  the 
best  places,  saluting  them  in  the  street,  and  show- 
ing them  honour  in  public  assemblies.  They 
were  commanded  to  receive  the  instructions  and 
reproofs  of  the  aged  with  the  utmost  submission. 
In  consequence  of  this,  a  Spartan  was  known 
wherever  he  went,  and  was  considered  as  dis- 
gracing his  country  if  he  behaved  otherwise. 
Cicero  tells  us  of  Lysander,  that  he  used  to  say 
that  Sparta  was  the  place  for  a  man  to  grow  old  in. 
The  story  is  well  known,  as  related  by  Plutarch, 
of  the  old  man  of  Athens,  at  the  theatre.  Coming 
in  late,  he   found  all  the  seats   occupied      His 

•  Lev,  xii.  32. 


THE    WORKING-MAN    IN    OLD    AGE.       281 

young  countrymen,  by  whom  he  passed,  kept 
their  seats,  but  when  he  came  near  the  place  where 
the  Spartan  ambassadors  and  their  suite  were 
sitting,  they  all  instantly  rose,  and  seated  him  in 
the  midst  of  them ;  upon  which  the  house  re- 
sounded with  the  applause  of  the  Athenians.  The 
old  man  quietly  said,  "  The  Athenians  know 
what  is  right,  but  the  Spartans  practise  it."  If 
there  is  any  form  of  self-complacency  which  is 
pardonable,  it  is  that  of  the  happy  old  man,  who 
makes  his  circuit  among  the  places  of  business, 
where  he  was  once  among  the  busiest,  and  re- 
ceives with  a  satisfied  smile  the  regard  of  all 
around  him.  He  seats  himself  in  the  shops, 
cracks  his  old  jokes,  repeats  his  old  stories,  lec- 
tures the  boys,  and  sometimes  breaks  forth  into  a 
half-comic  scolding  of  every  thing  pertaining  to 
modern  times. 

I  look  upon  it  as  one  of  the  great  advantages  of 
age,  that  it  can  freely  give  advice.  This  is  what 
the  rest  of  us  cannot  do  so  well.  But  who  will 
be  offended  with  the  counsels,  or  even  the  rebukes 
of  a  venerable  father,  leaning  on  his  staff,  and 
shaking  with  that  infirmity  which  is  but  the  be- 
ginning of  death  ?  The  words  and  the  example 
of  old  men  are  so  effective,  that  I  have  sometimes 
thought  the  responsibility  of  this  season  of  life 
was  not  sufficiently  felt.  A  man  may  do  more 
good  in  this  way  after  he  is  sixty,  than  in  all  his 
foregoing  life.  But  it  is  to  be  done,  not  sourly, 
grimly,  complainingly,  or  morosely,  but  with  that 
24* 


282  THE    WORKING-MAN. 

gentleness  which  may  show  that  it  arises  from 
true  benevolence. 

It  was  observed  by  the  ancients,  that  the  beset- 
ting sin  of  old  age  is  avarice.  Strange,  that  the 
less  one  needs,  the  more  he  should  desire  !  Yet 
thus  it  is :  and  thus  it  will  ever  be,  unless  some 
better  principles  be  infused  in  earlier  life ;  the 
ruling  passion  will  be  strong  even  in  death.  In 
the  following  celebrated  verses  of  Pope,  it  is  now 
well  known  that  the  poet  merely  repeated  the  very 
words  used  on  his  death-bed  by  Sir  William 
Bateman : 

"  'I  give,  and  I  devise'  (old  Euclio  said, 
And  sigh'd)  '  my  lands  and  tenements  to  Ned.' 
Your  money,  sir  1     '  My  money,  sir  ]  what,  all  1 
Why, — if  I  must — (then  vpept)  I  give  it  Paul.' 
The  manor,  sir  ■?     '  The  manor !  hold,'  he  cried, 
'  Not  that, — I  cannot  part  with  that' — and  died." 

Thus,  I  repeat  it,  old  age  will  be  liable  to  the 
madness  of  avarice,  unless  religious  principle 
prevent ;  and  even  if  religion  has  been  neglected 
in  former  years,  it  should  demand  attention  now, 
"  When  a  ship  is  leaking,"  says  Seneca,  "  we 
may  stop  a  single  leak,  or  even  two  or  three ;  but 
when  all  the  timbers  are  going  to  pieces,  our 
efforts  are  of  no  avail."  So  in  the  human  body, 
when  old  age  shows  that  the  fabric  is  breaking 
down,  the  soul  ought  to  be  looking  out  for  a  better 
habitation.  Alas !  few  grow  wise  late  in  life. 
The  most  pleasing  instances  of  old  age  are  those 


THE    WORKING-MAN   IN    OLD   AGE.      283. 

of  persons  who  have  attended  to  the  best  things 
in  youth.  Such  there  are,  and  they  are  among 
the  greatest  ornaments  of  religion.  "  The  hoary 
head  is  a  crown  of  glory,  if  it  be  found  in  the 
way  of  righteousness."  The  Christian  old  man 
shows  fruit  even  in  winter.  Instead  of  being 
querulous,  he  is  contented,  hopeful,  rejoicing. 
The  natural  sourness  of  declining  years  has  been 
ripened  into  a  delightful  mellowness  of  temper, 
by  the  graces  of  religion.  May  such  be  the  old 
age  of  the  reader ! 


284  THE    WORKING-MAN. 


XLV. 


CONCLUSION. 


"  'Tis  the  only  discipline  we  are  bom  for ; 
All  studies  else  are  but  as  circular  lines, 
'  And  death  the  centre  where  they  must  all  meet." 

Massingeb. 

In  the  foregoing  essays  I  have  touched  upon  a 
great  variety  of  subjects,  and  have  passed  "  from 
grave  to  gay,"  from  entertainment  to  instruction. 
There  are  many  matters  quite  as  important  which 
must  be  left  unattempted.  But  I  cannot  bring 
myself  to  close  the  volume  without  a  word  of 
counsel  upon  what  is  still  more  momentous  than 
any  to  which  I  have  alluded.  Whatever  our  call- 
ing in  life  may  be,  it  must  come  to  an  end ;  and 
however  our  paths  may  differ,  they  will  all  meet 
in  the  same  termination.  At  death  we  shall  be 
stripped  of  all  our  petty  distinctions,  and  despoiled 
of  all  our  worldly  gains. 

He  must  be  a  very  stupid  or  a  very  heedless 
man,  who  nfever  asks  himself  what  are  the  proba- 
bilities of  his  condition  after  death.  A  prosper- 
ous life  here  does  not  secure  a  prosperous  life 
hereafter.  The  very  heathen  may  rebuke  us  for 
our  carelessness.     Even  the  deist,  if  he  believes 


CONCLUSION.  285 

in  the  immortality  of  the  soul,  must  have  some 
solicitude  about  the  nature  of  that  immortality. 
Some  persuade  themselves  that  all  men  will  cer- 
tainly be  happy  after  death.  This  is  a  convenient 
doctrine  for  all  who  wish  to  enjoy  vicious  plea- 
sures ;  but  there  is  too  much  at  stake  for  any 
man  to  adopt  it  without  great  consideration,  and 
such  arguments  as  defy  all  contradiction.  It  is 
against  our  rational  feelings  of  justice,  the  com- 
mon judgment  of  all  ages,  and  the  plain  meaning 
of  the  Bible. 

If  there  is,  then,  a  risk  of  losing  one's  soul, 
can  a  reasonable  man  leave  the  matter  unsettled  ? 
It  has  often  filled  me  with  astonishment  to  see 
men  of  the  greatest  foresight  and  discretion  in 
worldly  affairs,  so  ruinously  careless  in  these. 
They  would  not  consent  to  pay  a  small  sum  of 
money  without  taking  a  receipt ;  or  to  live  in  a 
house  without  insurance  ;  or  to  lend  money  with- 
out security;  knowing  that  even  where  neigh- 
bours are  honest,  life  is  uncertain.  But  they  will 
hazard  their  everlasting  interests  upon  the  merest 
chance.  No  one  can  predict  what  a  day  may 
bring  forth.  Death  takes  most  of  its  victims  by 
surprise.  Yet  the  multitude  live  from  year  to 
year  without  any  attempt  at  preparation. 

The  undue  value  set  upon  wealth  and  temporal 
prosperity,  is  one  great  cause  of  this  recklessness. 
A.11  through  life  men  are  in  chase  of  that  which 
perishes  as  they  grasp  it.  Give  them  all  that 
their  most  eager  wishes  could  demand,  and  you 


286  THE    WORKING-MAN. 

do  not  secure  them  for  eternity.  But  there  is  a 
good  part  which  cannot  be  taken  away  from  them. 

No  considerate  man  can  reflect  on  his  life,  or 
examine  his  heart  without  acknowledging  that  he 
is  a  sinner  against  God.  The  whole  tenor  of  the 
Scriptures  speaks  the  same  truth.  How  am  I  to 
escape  the  punishment  due  to  my  sin  ?  This  is 
the  great  question,  on  which  every  one  ought  to 
have  some  settled  determination.  He  is  not  a 
wise  man,  who  lies  down  at  night  without  some 
satisfactory  hope  that  sudden  death  would  not  ruin 
his  happiness. 

The  great  truths  of  the  Christian  religion  lie 
within  a  small  compass.  There  is  an  agreement 
among  all  the  conflicting  sects  of  evangelical 
Christians  as  to  a  few  cardinal  points.  They  are 
such  as  these  :  that  by  nature  men  are  children  of 
wrath;  that  God  will  punish  the  impenitent;  that 
we  must  be  bom  again ;  that  without  faith  it  is 
impossible  to  please  God  ;  that  he  who  believeth 
shall  be  saved,  and  he  who  believes  not  will  be 
condemned.  Further,  the  faith  which  saves  us, 
regards  chiefly  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ ;  that  he  is 
the  Son  of  God  ;  that  he  became  man  for  our  sal- 
vation ;  that  he  bore  our  sins  in  his  own  body  on 
the  tree ;  that  he  rose  again  from  the  dead,  and 
ascended  into  heaven ;  and  that  we  are  justified 
by  faith  in  him.  He  who  believes  thus,  and 
manifests  this  belief  by  corresponding  works,  is 
a  true  Christian. 

There  is  reason  to  think  that  infidelity  is  on 


CONCLUSION.  287 

the  wane  in  our  country.  About  the  time  of  the 
French  revolution,  the  impious  falsehoods  of  Vol- 
taire were  making  havoc  among  our  youth.  This 
arch-infidel  once  predicted  that  in  twenty  years 
the  Christian  religion  would  be  no  more !  Those 
who  were  deceived  by  him  found  nothing  but  dis- 
appointment and  wretchedness.  Learned,  witty, 
and  applauded  as  he  was,  he  had  less  real  wisdom 
tlian  the  poorest  and  most  ignorant  Christian 
widow. 

"  She,  for  her  humble  sphere  by  nature  fit, 
Has  little  understanding,  and  no  wit ; 
Receives  no  praise ;  but  though  her  lot  be  such. 
Toilsome  and  indigent,  she  renders  much ; 
Just  knows,  and  knows  no  more,  her  Bible  true, 
A  truth  the  brilliant  Frenchman  never  knew; 
And  in  that  charter  reads  with  sparkling  eyes 
Her  title  to  a  treasure  in  the  skies. 
O  happy  peasant !  O  unhappy  bard ! 
His  the  mere  tinsel,  hers  the  rich  reward ; 
He  praised,  perhaps,  for  ages  yet  to  come. 
She  never  heard  of  half  a  mile  from  home : 
He,  lost  in  errors,  his  vain  heart  prefers, 
She,  safe  in  the  simplicity  of  hers." 


THE   END. 


THE 


AMEEICAN  MECHANIC 


AND 


WORKING-MAN. 


BY  JAMES  W.  ALEXANDER. 


IN  TWO   VOLUMES. 


VOL.  II. 


rniLADELVHIA : 

WILLIAM  S,  MARTIEN. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year 
1847,  by  William  S.  Martien,  in  the  Clerk's  OfBce 
of  the  District  Court  for  the  Eastern  District  of  Penn- 
sylvania. 


CONTENTS. 


L  The  Mechanic's  Pleasures .....t..  7 

II.  What -will  you  have  ? 12 

m.  The  Mechanic's  Reverse 16 

rV.  The  Mechanic's  Pleasures 20 

v.  The  Mechanic's  Social  Pleasures 24 

VL  The  Mechanic's  Garden 5s9 

VII.  The  Mechanic's  Fasliions 35 

Vni.  The  Mechanic  in  Straite 39 

IX.  The  Mechanic's  Wife 44 

X.  The  Mechanic  doing  Good 50 

XI.  The  Mechanic's  four  Temptations  in  Hard 

Times 55 

Xn.  The  Mechanic's  Vacation. ...............  63 

XXII.  The  Mechanic's  Children 89 

XIV.  The  Mechanic's  Children 75 

XV.  The  Mechanic  improved  by  Literature. ....  80 

XVI.  The  Mechanic's  Dog  and  Gun 86 

X Vn.  The  Mechanic's  Mornings 92 

X Vin.  The  Mechanic's  Friends 99 

XIX.  The  Mechanic's  Change  of  Trade 105 

XX.  The  Mechanic  in  Celibacy 113 

XXI.  The  Mechanic's  Table 119 

XXII.  The  Mechanic's  Musical  Recreations 126 

XXm.  The  Mechanic's  Clubs 134 

!•  6 


«  CONTEKTS. 

Page 

XXIV.   The  Mechanic  above  his  Business 142 

XXV.   The  Mechanic  in  Sickness 148 

XXVI.   The  Mechanic's  Winter  Evenings 155 

XXVII.  The  Mechanic's  Studies. — Importance  of 

Education  to  the  American  Mechanic. .    161 
XXVIII.   The  Mechanic's  Studies. — The  Pleasures 

of  Knowledge 167 

XXIX.  The  Mechanic's  Studies.— The  Profit  of 

'  Knowledge * 173 

XXX.  The  Mechanic's    Studies.  —  Discourage- 
'  ments 179 

'      XXXI.   The  Mechanic's  Studies. — Examples  ....   185 
'    XXXII.  The   Mechanic's   Studies. — More  Exam- 

!  pies — Learned  Shoemakers 190 

XXXin.  The  Mechanic's  Studies.  —  Examples  of 

Self-instruction 196 

XXXIV.   The  Mechanic's  Studies.— Clarke— Cole- 
man—Drew— Hill— Wild  203 

XXXV.  The    Mechanic's   Studies.  —  Encourage- 
ment to  make  a  beginning 211 

XXXVI.  The  Mechanic's  Studies, — Hints  and  Di- 
rections    217 

XXXVII.   The  Mechanic's  Studies.— Reading 224 

XXXVm.   The  Mechanic's  Studies.— Writing 230 

XXXIX.   The  Mechanic's  Studies. — Grammar 235 

XL.   The  Mechanic's  Studies. — Arithmetic  and 

Accounts 241 

XLI.   The  Mechanic's  Studies.— History 246 

XLII.   The  Mechanic's  Studies. — Chronology  and 

Geography 252 

t;     XLHL  The  Mechanic's  Studies.— Natural  Philo- 

(»•  sophy  and  Chemistry 259 

-     XLIV.   The  Mechanic's  Library 267 

XLV.  The  Study  of  the  Bible 275 

XLVL  The  Mechanic's  Religion 281 


•livrifi  aiii  rn 


^  THE 


I 


AMERICAN  MECHANIC. 


I- 

THE    mechanic's   PLEASURES.  "> 

Ours  is  not  the  country  where  one  may  sneer 
at  the  "  mechanic,"  Demagogues  know  this ; 
and  the  same  agitators  who  would  spurn  the 
"  unwashed  artificer,"  if  met  in  some  old  despotic 
realm,  find  it  to  be  their  true  policy  to  flatter  and 
cajole  him  here.  This  is  no  part  of  my  business. 
I  respect  honest  labour,  though  it  be  in  the  black 
man  who  saws  my  wood ;  and,  so  far  as  I  can 
learn,  my  ancestors  have  been  working  men  so 
long  that  "  the  memory  of  man  runneth  not  to 
the  contrary."  Though  the  motto  of  William  of 
Wickham  is  no  longer  good  English,  it  is  good 
sense  still — manners  maketh  man.  Wherever 
the  demeanour  and  life  of  a  man  are  good,  let  me 
get  as  near  to  him  as  he  will  allow,  that  I  may 

7 


8  THE    AMERICAN   MECHANIC. 

take  his  hand,  though  it  be  as  black  and  hardened 
as  his  anvil. 

I  am  ready  to  maintain  that  the  American 
mechanic  has  no  reason  to  envy  any  man  on 
earth.  "  Happy,  happy  men !"  as  an  old  poet 
says,  "  if  they  could  appreciate  their  own  felicity!" 

Has  the  mechanic  no  pleasures  ?  Let  us  see : 
and  in  order  to  see  better,  let  me  use  some  illus- 
trations. There  is  a  shop  near  my  lodgings ; 
and  I  never  yet  saw  the  shop  in  which  there  was 
not  something  to  be  learned.  In  this  one  there  is 
evidence  enough  that  working  men  may  have 
cheap  and  abundant  pleasures.  Without  going 
80  far  as  to  state,  what  I  believe  firmly,  that  to 
the  industrious  man  labour  is  pleasure,  I  beg 
'€ave  to  introduce  Arthur  Kip.  This  young 
man  is  a  plain  cooper,  and  lives  on  the  extremity 
of  a  street  which  I  pass  daily.  He  is  in  his  shop 
as  early  as  his  earliest  neighbour,  yet  I  some- 
times see  him  busy  a  good  half  hour  before  he  is 
in  his  shop.  What  is  Arthur  about  in  the  grey 
of  the  morning  ?  I  will  tell  you.  He  has  been 
Betting  out  rows  of  elms  around  the  whole  border 
of  his  little  lot.  For  you  must  know  that  he  is 
content  to  live  in  a  very  uncomfortable  house,  in 
order  to  forward  his  business  and  prepare  his 
grounds,  so  as  to  **  make  a  fair  start,"  as  he  calls 
it.     He  ha«  told  me  that  he  was  induced  to  do 


THE    mechanic's    PLEASURES.  9 

this  by  a  maxim  of  an  ancient  king  :  "  Prepare 
thy  work  without,  and  make  it  fit  for  thyself  in 
the  field,  and  afterwards  build  thy  house."  It 
does  one  good  to  see  Arthur  among  his  trees  ;  he 
sings  cheerily  over  his  spade  and  hatchet,  long 
before  the  sun  is  up.  "  These  saplings,"  says 
he,  "  will  be  noble  branching  trees  over  the 
heads  of  my  children  ;  and  if  little  Tom  should 
be  a  rich  man  thirty  years  hence,  he  will  have  a 
grove  which  all  the  money  of  the  aristocrats  in 
England  could  not  cause  to  spring  up."  In  this 
he  agreed  well  with  the  laird  of  Dumbiedikes, 
who  is  known  to  have  said  on  his  death-bed  to 
his  son  and  heir  :  "  Jock,  when  ye  hae  naething 
else  to  do,  ye  may  be  aye  sticking  in  a  tree  ;  it 
will  be  growing,  Jock,  when  ye're  sleeping." 

Arthur  has  a  garden  also.  His  rule  is,  "  first 
for  use  ;  next  for  show."  So  he  has  most  of  his 
ground  in  substantial  vegetables  for  the  table  ;  but 
a  very  goodly  portion,  I  assure  you,  in  choice 
flowers.  Why  should  he  not?  God  has  given 
the  poor  man  these  gems  of  the  earth  with  a 
bounteous  profusion ;  and  Ellen  Kip  and  little 
Tom  will  love  Arthur  and  one  another  all  the 
better  for  dwelling  among  the  lustre  and  fragrance 
of  tulips  and  violets. 

In  these  bright  spring  evenings,  I  take  a  walk 
about  the  time  that  this  little  household  comes 


10  THE    AMERICAN   MECHANIC. 

together  after  work.  No  tavern  has  yet  become 
Ellen's  rival ;  her  husband  spends  not  only  his 
nights,  but  his  evenings,  at  home.  Or,  if  he  goes 
abroad,  it  is  in  the  old-fashioned  way:  I  mean  he 
takes  his  wife  and  his  boy  along.  At  this  hour 
I  am  always  sure  of  witnessing  another  of  the 
mechanic's  pleasures.  Arthur  and  Ellen  are 
natives  of  a  state  where  young  folks  are  taught 
to  sing :  they  have  already  begun  to  bring  up 
little  Tom  in  the  same  way.  They  carry  a  tune 
in  several  parts  ;  for  Arthur  is  no  mean  performer 
on  the  violin,  and  Ellen  sings  a  soprano  part  to 
her  husband's  base.  The  neighbours  are  be- 
ginning to  find  their  way  out,  since  the  spring 
weather  has  unclosed  doors  and  windows,  and 
there  are  some  signs  of  a  little  musical  associa- 
tion. 

Some  of  the  best  musical  talent  in  America  is 
among  our  mechanics  ;  and  it  is  sad  that  they  are 
so  slow  to  discover  the  exquisite  satisfaction 
which  they  might  derive  from  this  innocent  re- 
creation. It  soothes  the  troubled  mind  ;  it  breaks 
the  thread  of  vexing  thoughts ;  it  prepares  the 
affections  for  every  good  impression  ;  it  affords  a 
healthfiil  excitement ;  it  knits  families  together  by 
gentlest  bands  ;  and  it  makes  a  paradise  of  home. 

What  mechanic  is  there  who  may  not  com- 
mand these  pleasures  ?     What  pleasures  of  the 


THE    mechanic's   PLEASURES.  11 

bar-room,  the  circus,  the  gaming-table,  the  theatre, 
are  equal  to  these  in  purity  and  genuine  content  ? 
I  am  sure  I  shall  have  the  right  answer — if  not 
from  mechanics,  at  least  from  their  wives.  But 
for  fear  of  being  prolix,  I  reserve  some  other 
pleasures  for  a  future  paper. 


12  THE    AMERICAN    MECHANIC. 


II. 

WHAT    WILL    YOU   HAVE  ? 

After  a  day's  work  of  calculation  and  copy- 
ing, I  was  under  the  mortifying  necessity  of  wait- 
ing an  hour  in  the  tap-room  of  a  low  tavern,  to 
secure  the  services  of  a  mail-guard,  who  was  to 
carry  a  parcel  for  my  employers.  Amidst  the 
smoke,  the  spitting,  and  the  clatter  of  a  crowd  of 
inn-haunters,  I  could  not  but  find  some  subjects 
for  reflection. 

The  presiding  genius  of  the  bar  was  a  bloated, 
carbuncled,  whiskered  yoimg  man,  whom  I  had 
long  known  as  the  abandoned  son  of  a  deceased 
friend.  I  sighed  and  was  silent.  Ever  arid  anon 
as  one  after  another,  or  squads  of  two,  three  or 
more,  approached  his  shrine,  to  receive  and 
empty  their  glasses,  and  deposit  their  sixpences, 
I  heard  the  short,  peremptory  formula  of  the 
Bacchanal  minister — •*  Tfliat  will  you  have? — 
brandy  ?  gin  ?  punch  ?  What  will  you  have  .^" 
And  the  victims  severally  made  their  bids,  for  a 
smaller,  a  cocktail,  a  sling,  or  a  jvilep,  as  the  case 
might  be.     The  constant  repetition  of  "  the  form 


WHAT    WILL    YOU    HAVE  ?  13 

in  that  case  made  and  provided,"  set  me  upon 
a  drowsy  meditation  on  the  pregnant  question 
ffjiat  will  you  have  ?  "  Methinks  I  can  answei 
the  question,"  said  I  to  myself,  as  I  cast  a  glance 
around  the  murky  apartment.  And  first  to  the 
young  shoemaker,  who,  with  a  pair  of  newly 
finished  boots,  is  asking  for  "  grog."  What  will 
you  have  ?  Young  man,  you  will  soon  have  an 
empty  pocketi 

There  is  a  trembling,  ragged  man,  with  livid 
spots  under  the  eyes.  He  is  a  machine-maker, 
and  has  lodgings  in  the  house.  What  will  you 
have  ?  Ah  !  the  bar-keeper  knows  without  an 
answer  :  he  takes  gin  and  water.  Poor  man  !  I 
also  know  what  you  will  have.  Already  you 
have  been  twice  at  death's  door  ;  and  the  gin  will 
not  drive  off  that  chill. — You  will  have  typhus 
/ever. 

There  comes  my  neighbour  the  bookbinder. 
His  hand  shakes  as  he  raises  his  full  glass.  Ah, 
Shannon ! — ^I  dread  to  say  it— but  you  will  have 
the  palsy. 

The  glasses  are  washed  out,  not  cleansed,  in 
the  slop-tub  under  the  bar-shelf.  Now  a  fresh 
bevy  comes  up,  cigar  in  hand.  Gentlemen,  what 
will  you  have  ?  I  choose  to  supply  the  answer 
for  myself ;  thus:  The  baker  there  will  have  an 
apoplexy  or  a  sudden  fall  in  his  shop.  That  tailor 
2 


14  THE    AMERICAN   MECHANIC. 

in  green  glasses  will  have,  or  rather  has  already, 
a  consumption.  And  I  fear  the  three  idlers  in 
their  train  will  have  the  next  epidemic  that 
shall  sweep  off  our  refuse  drunkards. 

But  what  will  that  man  have  who  leans  over 
the  table,  seeming  to  pore  over  the  last  "  Herald"  ? 
He  is  scarcely  resolved  what  he  shall  drink,  or 
whether  he  shall  drink  at  all.  I  understand  the 
language  of  his  motions  ;  he  is  a  renegade  from 
the  Temperance  ranks.  He  has  borrowed  money 
this  week.  John,  you  will  have  lodgings  in  a 
Jail. 

Sorry  indeed  am  I  to  see  in  this  den  Mr. 
Scantling,  the  cooper.  Not  to  speak  of  himself, 
I  have  reason  to  believe  that  both  his  grown  sons 
are  beginning  to  drink.  He  looks  about  him 
suspiciously.  Now  he  has  plucked  up  courage. 
He  takes  whisky.  You  will  have  a  pair  of 
drunken  sons. 

That  young  fellow  in  the  green  frock  coat  and 
coloured  neckcloth,  is  a  musician,  a  man  of  read- 
ing, and  the  husband  of  a  lovely  English  woman. 
He  takes  his  glass  with  the  air  of  a  Greek  drink- 
ing hemlock.  You  will  have  a  heart-broken  wife. 

What !  is  that  lad  of  fifteen  going  to  the  bar  ! 
He  is :  and  he  tosses  off  his  Cognac  with  an  air. 
You  will  have  an  early  death. 

The  old  mun  that  totters  out  of  the  door  has 


WHAT    WILL    rOU    HAVE  ?  15 

doubtless  come  hither  to  drown  his  grief.  His 
last  son  has  died  in  prison,  from  the  effects  of  a 
brawl  in  the  theatre.  The  father  has  looked  un- 
utterable anguish  every  sober  moment  for  two 
years.  Wretched  old  man  !  You  will  have  the 
halter  of  a  suicide. 

I  must  take  the  rest  in  mass,  for  it  is  Saturday 
night,  and  the  throng  increases.  The  bar-keeper 
has  an  assistant,  in  the  person  of  a  pale,  sorrow- 
ful girl.  Two  voices  now  reiterate  the  challenge  ; 
What  will  you  have?  What  will  you  have  ? 

Misguided  friends,  I  am  greatly  afraid  you  will 
all  have  a  death-bed  without  hope.  i 

My  man  has  arrived.  I  must  go ;  glad  to 
escape  to  purer  air :  and  still  the  parrot-note  re- 
sounds in  my  ears.  What  will  you  have  ?  You 
will  have — to  sum  up  all — you  will  have  a 
terrible  judgment  and  an  eternity  of  such  retri- 
bution as  befits  your  life. 

As  I  walked  home  across  the  common,  I 
thought  thus  :  "  And  what  will  he  have,  who,  day 
after  day,  and  month  after  month,  and  year  after 
year,  doles  out  the  devil's  bounty  to  his  recruits  ; 
and  receives  his  sixpences,  as  it  were,  over  the 
coffin  of  his  victims  ?  You,  to  say  the  least, 
hardened  tempter,  (if  memory  live  hereafter)  will 
have  the  recollection  of  your  triumphs,  and  the 
vision  of  their  eternal  results." 


16  THE    AMERICAN   MECHANIC. 


III. 

THE    mechanic's    REVERSE. 

Reverses  of  fortune  befall  all  men,  and  a 
sudden  one  befell  Joseph  Lewis.  He  had  enter- 
ed on  a  lucrative  handicraft  business  with  more 
capital  than  often  comes  to  the  hand  of  a  cabinet- 
maker, such  as  he  was ;  and,  like  a  true-bom 
American,  who  is  never  willing  to  let  anybody 
get  above  him  as  long  as  he  is  able  to  rise,  he 
shone  out  in  a  style  of  equipage,  dress,  and  living, 
which  was  almost  aristocratical.  His  chaise  and 
horse,  his  marble  mantel,  his  greyhound,  his  Joe 
Manton,  his  pointer,  his  dinner-service— all 
savoured  of  Bond  street  or  St.  Mark's  place 
Was  he  happy  ?  He  ought  to  have  been  so.  A 
quiet,  beautiful  wife ;  a  child  such  as  Titania 
might  have  stolen ;  a  full  warehouse  and  a  full 
]K>cket ;  are  just  the  things  to  make  a  young  man 
happy.  So  flushed  was  Joseph  with  success  and 
hope,  that  he  could  not  find  vent  for  his  exuberant 
satisfaction  alone,  or  on  cold  water ;  he  invited 
frequent  groups  to  late  dinners ;  he  opened  bottles 


THE    MBCHANIC'S   REVERSE.  1 7 

of  Hock  and  Sauterne ;  he  imported  his  own 
Parmesan. 

I  met  Joseph  in  Broadway.  He  had  come  to 
town  to  make  preparations  for  a  ball.  Was  he 
happy  ?  Ah !  you  must  answer  that  yourself. 
He  was  abundantly  fine — too  fine  for  a  gentle- 
man ;  he  was  as  smart  as  a  barber  on  Sunday 
evening,  or  a  wedding  journeyman.  His  hat  was 
a  St.  John ;  his  mosaic  pin  was  Baldwin's  richest 
Tuscany;  his  whole  manner  was  that  of  high 
fashion,  save  that  it  was  all  too  full  of  a  certain 
consciousness.  And  then  he  did  so  blush  when 
a  brother  chip  passed  us  ;  and  his  eye  sparkled 
with  the  glimmer,  not  of  serene  joy,  but  of  unac» 
customed  wine. 

That  day  fortnight  Joseph  Lewis  became  in- 
solvent. What  a  reverse  !  But  stay — was  he 
ruined  ?  By  no  means.  Let  me  bring  forward 
another  personage,  thus  far  a  mute  in  the  scene. 
His  wife  threw  her  arms  more  passionately 
around  his  neck,  on  that  evening,  than  ever  be- 
fore. Was  Joseph  now  unhappy?  His  great 
house  and  useless  stables  were  soon  cleared. 
Finding  himself  a  poor  man,  he  began  life  at  a 
new  corner.  He  began,  did  I  say? — No,  nhe 
began;  Mary  Lewis  began,  not  to  assume  the 
husband's  place,  but  to  fill  her  own.  She  sang 
a  sweeter  sorg  after  his  frugal  evening  meal,  than 
2* 


18  THE    AMERICAN   MECHANIC. 

had  ever  echoed  over  his  sumptuous  dinner  from 
New  York  parasites,  or  stage-struck  clerks.  Is 
he  unhappy  ?  Let  us  see  :  he  has  neither  carriage 
nor  wines,  but  he  has  his  hands  full  of  work,  and 
his  two  yellow-haired  girls  sit  on  his  knee  in  the 
hour  which  he  used  to  spend  at  the  theatre. 
He  has  no  cards  ;  he  gives  no  concerts  ;  but  he 
rests  more  sweetly  at  night ;  and  he  and  Mary 
make  good  music  on  the  guitar  and  flute,  accom" 
panying  very  passable  voices.  Last  week  I  met 
him  again.  He  was  carrying  home  a  picture 
which  he  had  been  framing.  One  blush — and 
then  a  hearty  shake  of  my  hand,  and  "  O 
Charles  !  come  and  see  us — we  are  rich  enough 
to  give  you  a  good  cup  of  tea — and  my  wife  and 
children  will  be  too  much  rejoiced  to  meet 
you." 

I  went,  and  found  him  quiet,  healthful,  self- 
possessed,  temperate,  domestic ;  amidst  a  lovely 
home-circle ;  with  music,  books,  a  few  philoso- 
phical instruments  ;  living  within  his  means  :  in 
a  great  reverse,  but  never  so  happy  before. 

The  ancient  philosophers  spent  a  good  part  of 
their  time  in  studying  out  rules  by  which  men 
might  sustain  themselves  under  the  changes  of 
fortune.  I  have  read  many  of  these  in  my 
younger  days.  In  none  of  them  do  I  find  any 
allusion  to  two  things  which  I  now  regard  as  the 


THE    MECHANIC  S    REVERSE.  19 

most  indispensable  in  every  such  discussion :  I 
mean  domestic  life  and  religion — the  hearth  and 
the  altar.  For  when  both  sources  of  comfort 
are  united  in  a  gently  pious  wife,  the  working 
man  who  has  this  treasure,  has  that  which  in  a 
reverse  is  more  precious  than  rubies. 


20  THE    AMERICAN   MECHANIC. 


IV. 

THE    mechanic's    PLEASURES. No.  2.  , 

George  Brown  is  a  shoemaker  in  this  village. 
He  grew  up  from  a  pale  apprentice,  into  a  still 
paler  journeyman,  with  little  prospect  of  long 
life.  After  being  several  times  very  low  with 
coughs,  he  was  supposed  to  have  fallen  into  a 
consumption ;  and  when  I  came  to  inquire  into 
the  case,  I  found  that  the  physician  had  ordered 
him  to  seek  a  southern  climate.  It  was  not  until 
the  spring  of  1835,  when  Brown  returned  from 
New  Orleans,  florid  and  robust,  that  I  discovered 
what  it  was  that  had  impaired  his  health.  The 
fact  was,  he  had  become  a  great  reader,  and  had 
most  imprudently  sat  up  a  third  part  of  his  nights, 
studying  such  books  as  he  could  beg,  borrow,  or 
buy. 

Those  who  have  acquired  no  taste  for  learning 
will  not  believe  me  when  I  say,  that  there  is 
scarcely  a  passion  felt  by  man  which  is  more 
powerful  than  the  thirst  for  knowledge.  It  has 
slain  its  thousands  ;  and  it  came  near  slaying 
George  Brown.     Why  do  I  mention  this  ?    Cer- 


\ 

THE    mechanic's   FLEASUBES.  21 

tainly  not  to  lead  any  promising  apprentice  into 
the  like  snare  ;  but  siraply  to  show  that  those 
mistake  egregiously  who  think  there  is  no  plea- 
sure in  reading  and  study. 

George  Brown  loved  knowledge  as  much  as 
ever,  on  his  return  from  a  residence  of  two  years 
in  the  South  ;  but  he  had  learned  wisdom  from 
experience.  I  have  a  little  collection  of  good 
books,  and  by  frequent  lending,  I  had  gained 
George's  confidence.  He  let  me  into  his  plans. 
He  now  works  with  a  thriving  boot-maker,  and  is 
said  to  be  one  of  his  best  hands  ;  and  he  is  as  dif- 
ferent from  his  fellows  in  the  shop,  as  young  Bep 
Franklin  was  from  his  fellow  printers.  Wherein 
are  they  unlike  ?  Not  in  mere  labour,  for  George's 
hammer,  awl,  and  lapstone  are  plied  as  briskly 
as  theirs  ;  the  difference  is  all  out  of  shop.  While 
they  are  careering  through  the  streets,  arm  in 
arm,  puffing  tobacco  smoke,  smiting  the  pave- 
ment with  their  cudgels  ;  or  even  worse,  hanging 
about  tavern  doors,  or  playing  at  "  all  fours"  with 
a  greasy  pack,  or  doing  overwork  in  the  nine-pin 
alley,  George  Brown  is  dividing  his  spare  time 
between  two  things,  reading  and  recreation. 

In  summer,  he  takes  a  good  long  walk,  or  he 
strays  along  the  river  bank,  or  he  joins  a  party  of 
quiet  friends,  until  he  feels  the  labour  of  the  day 
to  be  half  forgotten.    Then,  after  a  thorough  cold 


22  THE    AMERICAN   MECHANIC. 

bath,  which  he  learned  in  the  South  to  be  worth 
more  than  a  whole  medicine  chest,  he  sits  down 
to  his  books.  True,  he  never  gets  more  than  an 
hour  a  day  for  reading,  and  often  not  ten  minutes  : 
but  what  of  that  ?  "  Does  not  the  jeweller,"  says 
he,  "  save  the  smallest  filings  of  his  gold  ?"  Time 
is  gold.  Every  little  helps.  Constant  dropping 
wears  away  rocks.  Take  care  of  the  minutes  ; 
the  hours  will  take  care  of  themselves.  Never 
throw  away  an  instant.  These  are  maxims  which 
he  has  laid  up  for  life.  And  the  young  man  who 
acts  on  these  will  never  fail  to  be  a  scholar. 

George  Brown  is  as  happy  as  the  day  is  long. 
Being  the  best  reader  in  the  shop,  he  is,  by  com- 
mon consent,  permitted  to  read  aloud  from  the 
newspaper  and  the  Penny  Magazine.  The  boya 
will  laugh  at  him  for  a  book-worm,  and  a  parson, 
and  so  forth ;  but  George  smiles  knowingly,  and 
says,  "  Let  them  laugh  that  win !"  While  he 
labours  with  his  hands,  he  is  often  turning  over 
in  his  mind  what  he  has  read  the  night  before. 
Some  of  his  evenings  are  spent  in  taking  lessons 
from  an  accomplished  gentleman  who  instructs  a 
class  of  young  men  ;  and  others  in  hearing  philo- 
sophical lectures  at  a  neighbouring  Lyceum. 

He  has  not  a  novel  or  a  play-book  on  his 
shelves.  These  he  calls  the  champagne  of  read- 
ing ;  pleasant  to  take,  but  leaving  you  uneasy^ 


THE    mechanic's    PLEASURES.  23 

He  is  fond  of  history  and  travels  :  and  books  are 
now  so  cheap  that  he  has  more  than  fifty  volumes. 
He  showed  me  the  Bible  in  several  forms  ;  Jose- 
phus  ;  Tytler's  History  ;  Plutarch's  Lives  ;  Ram- 
sey's United  States ;  Mackintosh's  England ; 
Edwards's  Lives  of  Self-Taught  Men;  The 
Library  of  Entertaining  Knowledge ;  the  Ram- 
bler ;  the  Spectator ;  Milton,  Thomson,  Cowper, 
and  Wordsworth  ;  and  others  of  which  I  do  not 
remember  the  titles. 

Here  is  another  of  the  mechanic's  pleasures. 
And  I  am  sure  all  who  ever  tried  it,  will  agree 
that  it  is  the  best  of  the  three.  I  hope,  before 
long,  to  go  into  this  subject  more  at  large,  in  order 
to  encourage  the  reader  to  enter  a  new  field.  It 
lies  invitingly  open  to  every  young  man  who  is 
willing  to  enjoy  it.  These  fruits  hang  near  the 
ground ;  if  the  tree  is  hard  to  climb,  it  is  only 
until  you  reach  the  first  boughs.  Young  me- 
chanics !  take  a  friend's  advice,  and  try. 


£4  THE    AMERICAN   MECHANIC. 


THE    MECHANIC  S    SOCIAL   PLEASURES. 

When  any  man's  business  grows  so  fast  as  to 
stand  in  the  way  of  his  being  neighbourly,  you 
may  lay  it  down  as  a  rule  that  it  grows  too  fast. 
This  is  true  of  every  sort  of  labour,  whether  of 
the  mind  or  the  body.  We  were  not  made  to  be 
unsocial,  sullen,  independent  machines,  but  to 
love  and  help  one  another.  "  He  that  is  a  friend 
must  show  himself  friendly ;"  and  this  is  to  be 
done  by  a  pleasant  and  frequent  intercourse  with 
acquaintances  and  neighbours. 

No  wealth,  nor  power,  nor  selfish  pleasure,  can 
ever  compensate  for  the  absence  of  kindly  inter- 
course. Working  men  may  work  so  hard  as  to 
work  out  their  best  native  propensities.  In  our 
haste  to  make  money,  let  us  look  to  it  that  we  do 
not  lose  what  no  money  can  buy — true  friendship. 

The  tendency  to  form  friendly  connexions  and 
cultivate  associations  is  so  strong,  that  where  it 
has  not  a  good  outlet,  it  will  find  a  bad  one.  If 
a  young  man  is  not  allowed  to  enjoy  company  at 
home,  he  will  enjoy  it  at  the  tavern,  or  some 


THE  mechanic's  SOCIAL  PLEASURES.     25 

"worse  place.  I  find  it  in  my  heart  to  honour  that 
principle  of  our  nature  which  abhors  a  vacuum, 
and  cries  out  that  it  is  not  good  for  man  to  be 
alone.  The  parent,  the  teacher,  and  the  employer, 
in  proportion  as  they  seek  the  welfare  of  the 
youth  under  their  care,  will  try  to  afford  healthful 
exercise  to  the  social  principle. 

Let  me  ask  old  housekeepers,  whether  amidst 
the  great  improvements  of  the  times,  there  is  not 
a  change  for  the  worse  in  our  domestic  and  social 
intercourse.  How  did  this  ■  matter  stand  some 
thirty  years  ago  ?  Much  as  follows.  John  Den 
and  Richard  Fen,  when  they  established  them- 
selves in  this  village,  were  both  lately  married,  and 
had  little  families  gathering  like  olive  branches 
round  their  tables.  They  had  worked  in  the 
same  shop,  and  they  remembered  it.  They  had 
been  apprentices  of  the  old  stamp,  labouring  a 
good  seven  years,  and  making  six  working  days 
in  every  week.  They  knew  one  another  thorough- 
ly, and  kept  up  a  friendly  communication. 
Scarcely  a  day  passed  in  which  John  was  not  in 
^  Richard's  shop,  or  Richard  in  John's  :  and  Mrs. 
Den  and  Mrs.  Fen  ran  across  to  one  another  often 
half  a  dozen  times  in  a  day.  Their  children  grew 
up  as  friends,  and  once  every  week  they  made  a 
joint  concern,  and  took  tea  together.  There  was 
then  but  one  grog  house  in  the  village,  and  neither 


S8    .  THE    AMERICAN   MECHANIC. 

of  these  men  was  ever  seen  in  it,  except  when 
Richard  had  occasion  to  go  thither  in  his  capacity 
of  constable.  It  was  a  pleasant  way  of  life.  The 
little  circle  increased  ;  and  other  families  quietly 
fell  into  the  same  arrangements  ;  so  that,  as  I  well 
remember,  you  could  scarcely  ever  sit  an  hour  of  a 
summer's  evening,  in  the  house  of  any  one  of 
these  mechanics,  without  witnessing  the  friendly 
entrance  of  a  number  of  the  neighbours.  They 
did  one  another  good,  and  their  friendships,  how- 
ever humble,  were  comparatively  pure. 

But  how  does  this  matter  stand  now  ?  Much 
as  follows.  John  Den  and  Richard  Fen  are  dead 
and  gone.  In  their  place  there  are  Dens  and 
Fens,  and  husbands  of  Dens  and  Fens — enough 
to  people  a  town  in  Illinois.  Business  is  driven 
on  in  double  quick  time.  George  Washington 
Den  has  more  journeymen  this  moment  than  his 
good  father  ever  had  in  all  his  life.  Napoleon 
Fen  makes  more  money  in  one  year  than  old 
Richard  ever  possessed.  Meet  these  men  where 
you  will,  and  you  will  find  them  in  a  hurry. 
They  are  rushing  forward,  and  can  no  more  pause 
than  can  a  railroad  car.  Their  social  intercourse 
is  hasty,  fitful,  irregular,  unsatisfactory,  and 
feverish.  Their  earnings  arc  spent  at  political 
meetings,  at  Trades'  Unions,  at  entertainments, 
at  taverns — in   short,  anywhere  but  at  home. 


THE    mechanic's    SOCIAL    PLEASURES.    27 

Their  sons  and  daughters  are  very  fine,  and  gay, 
and  to  a  certain  degree  polished ;  but  they  are 
growing  up  in  total  ignorance  of  that  old-fashioned, 
wholesome,  serene,  and  profitable  intercourse, 
which  gave  to  their  parents  an  unwrinkled  old 
age. 

What  is  to  be  done  ?  I  think  the  remedy  is 
obvious ;  but  I  fear  most  will  resist  it.  We  must 
return  to  simplicity  of  manners.  We  must 
cease  to  live  so  fast.  We  must  take  a  little 
breath,  and  persuade  ourselves  that  there  are  other 
and  higher  purposes  to  which  hours  may  be  de- 
voted, than  the  earning  of  so  many  dollars  and 
cents.  It  is  poor  economy  of  life  to  lay  out  all 
our  time  on  mere  gain,  when  by  so  doing  we 
actually  bid  fair  to  make  life  not  only  shorter  but 
less  sweet. 

Among  the  thousand  evils  of  our  unreformed 
taverns,  it  is  not  the  least,  that  every  one  of  them 
is  the  rival  of  some  score  of  firesides.  The  real 
competition  is  between  the  bar-room  and  the  sit- 
ting-room. License  a  new  tavern,  and  you  dig  a 
sluice  which  draws  ofi"  just  so  much  from  do- 
mestic comfort.  Write  it  down — for  it  is  true — 
whenever  you  see  a  young  man  standing  much 
on  tavern  steps  or  porch,  you  see  one  who  has 
little  thrift,  and  who  will  die  poor,  even  if  he  do 
not  die  drunk. 


28  THE    AMERICAN   MECHANIC. 

It  is  the  great  error  of  many  parents  to  discoui 
age  evening  visits  between  their  own  children 
and  those  of  their  neighbours.  What  is  the  con- 
sequence ?  The  young  men  will  and  must  have  _ 
company.  If  they  are  frowned  on  at  home,  they 
will  spend  their  evenings  abroad.  And  as  no 
youth  can  very  freely  visit  young  companions 
whom  he  is  not  allowed  to  entertain  in  return, 
the  young  men  of  these  churlish  families  will  be 
found  at  the  bar-room.  Here  is  a  wide  sluice 
prepared  for  intemperance  and  vice.  Already,  in 
some  towns,  all  the  associations  of  working  men 
are  in  the  streets  or  in  public  places.  The  evil 
cries  aloud  for  speedy  reformation.  Who  will 
set  the  example  ? 


THE    mechanic's    GARDEN.  29 


VI. 

THE    mechanic's    GARDEN. 

In  tlie  garden  the  mechanic  finds  a  sort  of  re- 
lief from  his  toils  of  mind,  which  he  can  nowhere 
else  find  so  cheaply.  Let  it  not  he  thought  strange 
that  I  speak  of  toils  of  mind.  Every  physician 
knows  that  it  is  the  jaded  soul,  no  less  than  the 
jaded  body,  which  brings  to  his  office  the  pale 
and  tremulous  working  man.  This  may  be  seen 
in  comparing  different  trades.  The  house  car- 
penter, who  works  here  and  there,  in  every  va- 
riety of  situation,  and  most  of  all  in  the  open  air 
or  the  well- ventilated  shed,  shows  a  very  differ- 
ent complexion  from  the  tailor,  the  shoemaker,  or 
the  printer,  who  tasks  himself  from  morning  till 
night  in  the  same  spot.  No  man  is  called  upon 
to  spend  all  his  hours  at  one  sort  of  work.  He 
who  does  so,  works  too  much,  and  injures  both 
mind  and  body.  We  all  need  elbow-room,  rest- 
ing-places, and  breathing-spells,  in  every  part  of 
the  journey  of  life. 

It  is  often  asked  why  we  have  so  few  good 
musicians  among  the  mechanics  of  this  country 
3* 


30  TfiJB    AMERICAN   MECHANIC. 

One  reason  is,  that  they  allow  themselves  so  little 
time.  From  morning  until  night,  it  is  hurry, 
hurry,  hurry !  Few  men  ever  accomplished  more 
than  John  Wesley,  and  his  motto  was.  Always 
in  haste,  hut  never  in  a  hurry.  It  is  good  to  go 
out  of  doors  sometimes,  if  it  were  only  to  cool 
down  this  American  fever  of  the  blood. 

You  are  in  too  great  a  hurry  to  be  rich,  or  you 
could  take  an  hour  before  breakfast,  and  an  hour 
after  tea,  for  the  purpose  of  healthful  recreation ; 
besides  a  good  quiet  hour  in  the  middle  of  the 
day  for  absolute  rest,  including  your  principal 
meal. 

"Ay,  but  I  am  already  behindhand,  and  I  must 
husband  every  moment  to  bring  up  arrears." 

Perhaps  so :  and  this  is  only  an  evidence  of 
bad  management  somewhere,  in  time  past.  Ne-- 
cessity  has  no  law  ;  but  you  ought  to  plan  such 
a  life  as,  by  the  blessing  of  Providence,  may  keep 
the  wolf  away  from  the  door,  and  not  leave  you 
the  prey  of  urgent  necessity.  You  have  already 
lost  days  by  ill  health ;  and  this  ill  health  was 
brought  on  by  neglect  of  the  laws  of  your  animal 
economy  ;  and  one  of  these  fundamental  laws  is, 
that  a  machine  always  running  in  gear,  and  never 
oiled  or  refitted,  must  go  to  pieces.  Take  your 
spade  and  hoe  and  rake,  and  come  with  me  into 
the  garden. 


THE   mechanic's    GARDEN.  31 

"I  have  no  garden.'* 

No  garden  !  why,  what  is  that  little  enclosure 
which  I  see  behind  your  house  ? 

"  O,  it  was  once  a  garden — but — ^but — " 

Yes,  I  see  how  it  is ;  it  was  once  a  garden^ 
but  you  have  made  it  a  rubbish-heap.  See  there,, 
your  cow  is  actually  devouring  a  ro^w  of  good 
spinach,  this  instant.  Yes,  yes — where  your  gsur- 
den  should  be,  you  have  a  vile  hog-stye ;  and. 
there  is  your  ley-tub  dripping  away  in  the  pret- 
tiest comer  of  your  court-yard. 

"  Why,  to  be  sure,  we  have  let  matters  got 
rather  at  sixes  and  sevens  back  here  ;  my  wood 
and  coal  are  thrown  over  the  fence,  and  we  have 
chopped  our  fuel  in  the  old  garden  path ;  but  then 
nobody  ever  comes  to  see  this  part  of  the  estab- 
lishment." 

Surely,  your  wife  and  children  see  it;  you 
see  it  yourself:  I  am  afraid  you  would  never 
wash  your  face  if  no  one  were  to  see  you.  This 
will  never  do.  Take  your  spade  and  come  oul 
of  this  stupor. 

"  To  tell  you  the  truth,  I  have  no  spade  1" 

The  more  shame  for  you !  Then  throw  off 
that  apron,  and  go  with  me  to  the  hardware  shop, 
and  I  will  pick  you  a  good  one,  and  we  will  get 
Barney  to  sharpen  it,  and  go  to  work. 

*'  I  feel  weary  and   dull — ^I  have  a  headache 


35'  THE    A:mERIC AN   MECHANIC. 

from  leaning  over  my  work  so  long ;  I  am  not  fit 
to  dig." 

Yes,  you  are  dull  enough ;  and  duller  yet  you 
will  be,  unless  you  amend  your  ways.  Your 
skin  is  dry  and  sallow ;  your  eyes  are  heavy ; 
you  are  getting  a  sad  stoop  in  your  shoulders  ; 
you  are  not  the  active,  cheerful  man  you  once 
were.  In  fact  you  are  this  moment  ten  years 
older  than  you  have  any  right  to  be. 

*'  I  know  it — I  know  it !  My  wife  has  said 
so  every  day  for  a  twelvemonth.  I  know  it — 
but  what  can  I  do  ?  I  have  eaten  half  a  hundred 
of  bran  bread  ;  I  have  taken  three  boxes  of  pills." 

Miserable  man !  I  wonder  you  are  not  in  your 
coffin  !  Throw  your  bran  bread  and  your  pills 
into  the  swill  pail. 

"  But,  dear  sir,  what  must  I  do  ?" 
'  Do !  Take  your  spade,  as  I  have  been  telling 
you.     Here,  I  will  show  you  how  to  begin.    You 
have  a  very  decent  lot  there ;  only  it  has  seven 
or  eight  boards  off  the  fence. 

♦'  Yes,  they  have  been  coming  off  all  winter." 

Surprising!  and  you  have  slept  over  it  all 
this  time  !  Here,  John  !  Jacob  !  Call  out  your 
apprentices  for  five  minutes.  Let  me  take  the 
command ..^Bill  can  stay  and  have  an  eye  to  cus- 
tomers. John,  run  to  Mr.  Deal's  for  his  saw. 
Jacob,'  pull  out  that  pile  of  old  boards  from  under 


THE   MECHANIC  S   GARDEN.  33 

ihe  wheelbarrow.  I'll  take  my  coat  off,  and  if 
your  strength  allows,  perhaps  you  had  better  take 
yours  off  too.  We  shall  have  this  breach  stop- 
ped in  ten  minutes,  if  you  can  produce  a  hand 
ful  of  nails. 

"  Well,  Mr.  Quill,  I  really  never  thought  or 
this  way  before !" 

I  should  like  to  know  what  other  way  there 
is !  "  Off  coat,  and  at  it,"  is  the  only  way  I  am 
acquainted  with. 

"  Now  you  have  the  fence  up,  what  next  ?" 

Clear  off  this  rubbish.  Rake  together  these 
stalks  of  last  year's  weeds,  and  burn  them. 
Gather  out  the  thousand  and  one  sticks,  and 
stones,  and  old  shoes.  Get  a  bit  of  old  cord  and 
mark  out  some  walks.  Furnish  ymn-self  with 
tools,  and  begin  to-morrow  morning  by  sunrise 
to  dig  up  the  ground.  I  will  be  ready  to  give 
you  seeds  and  plants  ;  and  by  this  day  week,  my 
word  for  it,  you  will  show  some  circulation  in 
your  wan  cheeks,  and  not  look  so  black  under 
the  eyes.  The  only  pity  is,  that  you  should  not 
have  had  your  peas  and  beans  in  ten  days  ago : 
but  better  late  than  never. 

When  God  made  man,  he  placed  in  his  hand 
the  spade  and  pruning-hook.  When  God  re- 
stored man  to  the  beautiful  earth,  after  the  flood, 
he  promised  not  to  curse  the  ground  any  more, 


34  THE    AMERICAN    MECHANIC. 

ana  to  give  seed-time  and  harvest  as  duly  as  day 
and  night.  When  God  spake  to  man,  he  conde- 
scended to  use  the  language  of  the  gardener;  for 
the  gentlest  invitations  and  incitements  of  Holy 
Writ  come  to  us  breathing  the  odours  of  the 
"  rose  of  Sharon,"  the  *'  fig-tree  and  the  vine," 
and  the  "  lily  of  the  valleys."  And  I  am  fain  to 
believe  that  in  the  cool  morning  hour,  when,  with 
devout  thankfulness,  the  father  of  an  humble 
family,  with  his  little  ones  about  him,  gently  tills 
his  plot  of  ground,  training  his  vines,  and  water- 
ing his  tender  herbs,  God  often  condescends  in 
the  secrecy  of  a  heart  brought  into  harmony  with 
nature,  to  whisper  words  of  awful  grace. 

I  entreat  my  friends  of  the  labouring  classes  to 
cultivate  the  earth.  I  entreat  them  to  take  ad- 
vantage of  every  little  nook  of  ground  about  their 
dwellings.  Flowers  are  the  gems  of  the  soil ; 
we  ought  to  nurture,  to  gather,  and  to  enjoy 
them.  I  shrink  from  the  denaturalized  creature 
who  has  outlived  his  childish  love  of  flowers. 
Better  have  a  gay  garden  than  a  gay  parlour ;  bet- 
ter keep  a  bed  of  tulips  than  a  horse  and  chaise. 
"  When  ages  grow  to  civility  and  elegancy,  men 
come  to  build  stately  sooner  than  to  garden  finely  ; 
as  if  gardening  were  the  greater  perfection."  So 
saith  my  Lord  Bacon. 


THE   ItfECfiUNIc's   FASHIONS.  35 

VII. 

THE    mechanic's    FASHIONS. 

Every  one  is  ready  enough  to  cry  out  against 
the  tyranny  of  fashion,  yet  almost  every  one 
meekly  submits.  Here  and  there,  in  my  daily 
walks,  I  fall  in  with  a  few  elderly  men,  fellows 
of  the  old  school,  who  prefer  comfort  to  appear- 
ances. You  may  know  them  a  hundred  yards  off, 
by  the  easy,  contented,  independent  carriage  of 
their  bodies,  and  the  fulness  and  simplicity  of 
their  garb.  The  cut  of  their  coats  is  not  very 
unlike  that  of  the  year  eighteen  hundred,  and 
their  red  cheeks  would  dissolve  in  a  healthy 
smile  if  you  should  speak  to  them  of  the  reign- 
ing mode. 

I  am  no  friend  to  mere  fashion  as  a  directress 
of  life ;  she  is  a  capricious  sultana  who  mocks 
us  into  disguises,  and  then  punishes  us  for  com- 
pliance. Who  can  tell  the  money  out  of  which 
she  has  cheated  the  mechanics  of  America ! 

If  we  were  systematically  inclined,  we  migh* 
draw  up  a  brief,  as  thus  :  I.  Fashion  in  general. 
n.  Fashion  in  particulars.  1.  In  dress.  2.  In 
equipage.     3.  In  furniture.    4.  In  living.    5.  In 


36  THE    AMERICAN   MECHAKIC. 

manners.  6.  In  opinions.  7.  In  religion.  But 
before  I  could  reach  the  remaining  specifica- 
tions I  might  possibly  wax  wearisome.  Let  us 
forbear  undue  method. 

Frederick  Fitz-Francis,  in  despite  of  his 
name,  is  a  haberdasher ;  so  he  used  to  be  called 
in  Cheapside,  but  in  America,  where  rivers,  cata- 
racts, and  names,  are  bigger  than  in  the  old  world, 
he  is  a  dry  goods  merchant.  He  is  a  proper 
man,  and  the  very  mirror  of  gentility,  giving  the 
ray  after  its  third  or  fourth  reflection  ;  his  neck- 
cloth is  immaculate  ;  his  collar  pokes  beyond  his 
black  whiskers,  in  the  precise  acute  angle  which 
is  just  the  thing.  Not  long  since  he  chose  to 
call  on  his  neighbour  and  former  friend,  Thomas 
Chubb,  the  carriage-maker,  who  had  recently 
established  himself  in  a  new  house. 

"  Well,  Chubb,"  said  Mr.  Fitz-Francis,  "  I 
thought  I  would  look  in  upon  ye." 

"  I  am  sure  you  are  welcome,  Frederick,  and  I 
«nall  be  pleased  to  show  you  over  my  new  house." 

"  Just  what  I  came  for  ;  but  look  ye,  Chubb,  I 
don't  like  this  arrangement  of  your  court-yard. 
Nobody  in  town  has  such  a  space  laid  out  in 
riowers." 

Here  Chubb  smiled. 

"  Let  us  go  in.  How  is  this !  Upon  my  word 
you  can't  be  furnished  yet,  in  this  parlor." 


THE    mechanic's    FASHIONS.  37 

"Yes,  I  am  ;  what's  the  matter?" 

"  Matter !  Why  I  don't  know,  but  things 
have  a  very  odd,  unfashionable  look." 

"  Perhaps  so,  Frederick ;  I  am  not  a  man  of 
fashion,  though  I  sometimes  turn  out  a  fashionable 
carriage.     But  what  is  wrong  ?" 

"  Why,  your  chairs  are  very  droll." 

"  Are  they  ?  Just  sit  in  one  of  them,  and  tell 
me  whether  you  find  them  easy.'! 

"  Pshaw  !  that  is  not  the  thing.  Hem — ah — 
on  my  word,  they  are  uncommonly  easy,  but  out 
of  date — nobody  has  the  like." 

"  Very  likely ;  they  were  made  in  my  own 
shop,  and  after  my  own  plan,  and  they  are  wider, 
lower,  and  softer  than  any  chairs  in  town." 

"  Dear  me,  Mr.  Chubb  !  have  you  not  a  pier- 
glass  ?" 

"  None,  I  assure  you.  If  you  wish  to  dress, 
or  look  at  your  whiskers,  I  have  an  old  mirror 
in  the  other  room." 

"  Come,  come,  no  drollery :  but  surely  you 
mean  to  introduce  a  centre-table." 

"  Not  I,"  said  Chubb  ;  "  I  find  it  irksome  to 
look  at  a  toy-table,  with  playthings,  albums,  and 
little  smelling-bottles,  standing  forever  in  the 
way."  And  he  smiled  to  think  that  even  Mr. 
Fitz  was  here  behind  the  fashion. 

"Well,  Mr.  Chubb,  if  you  are  bent  upon 
4 


SS  THE    AMERICAN   MECHANIC. 

saving  and  living  without  expense,  pray  be  con- 
sistent, and  carry  matters  out. — Why  have  you 
these  oil  paintings  on  your  walls  ?  They  must 
have  cost  you  more  than  a  pier-glass  or  a  claw- 
foot  table." 

"  They  did  ;  and  I  am  not  bent  on  saving. 
The  pictures  gratify  my  taste ;  the  gimcracks 
would  have  been  only  a  tax  paid  to  that  of  other 
people.  Where  money  gives  me  or  my  frienos 
real  comfort,  or  innocent  pleasure,  or  solid  profit, 
I  grudge  it  not ;  but  not  a  cent  in  mere  aping  of 
others.  I  wear  a  high-priced  boot,  but  I  take 
care  that  it  shall  not  pinch  my  toes  into  corns. 
That  sofa,  on  the  other  hand,  cost  me  but  fifteen 
dollars,  but  it  is  as  comfortable  as  a  bed.  And 
that  homely  piece  of  furniture  which  you  are 
eyeing  with  so  much  contempt,  is  an  old  organ 
which  my  wife's  father  once  played  on,  and 
which  my  daughter  is  beginning  to  touch  quite 
pleasantly.  You  perceive  I  am  what  the  world 
considers  an  odd  fellow  ;  but  I  find  independent 
satisfaction  in  abstaining  from  a  chase  after  ever- 
varying  modes.  Even  you,  allow  me  to  hint, 
are  only  half-way  in  the  race,  and  are  as  ridicu- 
lous in  the  eyes  of  the  grandees  you  imitate,  as  I 
am  in  yours.  Come  in  this  evening,  and  we  will 
show  you  our  fashions  in  food." 


THE    MECHANIC    IN    STRAITS.  39 

VIII. 

THE    MECHANIC    IN   STRAITS. 

Historians  have  been  busy  for  several  thou- 
sands of  years,  but  they  have  not  described  any 
one  class  of  men  which  is  exempt  from  trouble. 
The  most  sturdy  beggars,  in  the  greatest  paradise 
of  mendicity,  are  sometimes  brought  to  a  non- 
plus. Belisarius,  the  champion  of  the  wealthiest 
empire  yet  recorded,  was  reduced  to  beg  his 
farthing.  And  a  European  king,  in  the  last 
century,  died  penniless  in  England. 
^.  After  this  becoming  preface,  we  may  go  fairly 
to  work  on  our  subject.  I  heartily  sympathize 
with  the  man  who  is  reduced  to  want,  without 
his  own  fault ;  especially  if  he  is  a  man  who  earns 
his  bread  with  the  sweat  of  his  brow ;  and,  most 
of  all,  if  he  has  to  share  his  sorrow  and  loss  with 
a  confiding  wife  and  helpless  children.  There 
are  many  such,  for  we  meet  them  in  almost  every 
walk,  downcast  and  unemployed  ;  there  are  more 
than  we  at  first  suppose,  for  the  greatest  sufferers 
shun  the  glare  of  observation. 

American  mechanics  are  said  to  love  money, 


40  THE    AMERICAN   MECHANIC. 

and  Mrs.  Trollope  writes,  that  one  cannot  hear 
two  Americans  talking  together  for  five  minutes, 
without  the  repetition  of  the  word  dollar.  Jeremy 
Bentham  makes  the  same  remark  of  the  lower 
English,  except  that  for  dollar  he  reads  beer. 
Europeans  seem  resolved  to  fix  on  us  the  charge 
of  loving  gold.  If  this  be  true  in  any  discredit- 
able sense,  it  is  so  in  a  sense  different  from  that 
of  the  olden  time.  The  money-lover  of  our  day 
IS  bad  enough,  but  he  is  not  the  miser  of  old 
stories.  He  grasps,  but  does  not  hoard.  The 
excitement  which  drives  him  on  to  rapid  gains  is 
only  one  branch  of  a  wider  excitement  having 
many  branches,  characteristic  of  our  time  and 
country,  and  susceptible  of  a  direction  to  good  as 
well  as  evil.  The  old-time  money-maker  was  a 
tortoise,  and  when  a  storm  came  he  closed  his 
shell.  The  modern  money-maker  is  a  bird  of 
the  air ;  the  tempest  drenches,  and  peradventure 
stuns  him,  but  at  the  first  laughing  sunshine  he 
is  again  on  the  wing.  Let  the  mechanic  in  straits 
hope  strongly  for  deliverance.  Many  are  now 
reduced  to  great  difficulties  ■  by  changes  in  the 
commercial  world,  which  they  had  no  hand  in 
producing.  In  such  circumstances,  when  the 
father  of  a  family  sees  the  dearest  object  of  hia 
affections  brought  into  want  and  distress,  there  is 
a  great  temptation  to  discontent  and  repining. 


Tfifi    MSCHANTC    IN  STBAITS.  41 

This  tendency  must  be  resisted ;  it  never  did  any 
good,  and  it  never  can.  No  man  ever  gained  by 
grumbling.  Complaint,  recriminations,  and  even 
curses,  serve  neither  to  make  the  hunger  smaller 
nor  the  loaf  larger.  Stick  a  pin  there,  and  con- 
sider.    Here  is  a  starting  point. 

Not  many  hours  ago  I  heard  Uncle  Benjamin 
discoursing  this  matter  to  his  son,  who  was  com- 
plaining of  the  pressure.  "  Rely  upon  it,  Sammy," 
said  the  old  man,  as  he  leaned  on  his  staff,  with 
his  gray  locks  flowing  in  the  breeze  of  a  May 
morning,  "  murmuring  pays  no  bills.  I  have 
been  an  observer  any  time  these  fifty  years,  and 
I  never  saw  a  man  helped  out  of  a  hole  by 
cursing  his  horses.  Be  as  quiet  as  you  can,  for 
nothing  will  grow  under  a  moving  harrow,  and 
discontent  harrows  the  mind.  Matters  are  bad,  I 
acknowledge,  but  no  ulcer  is  any  the  better  for  fin- 
gering. The  more  you  groan  the  poorer  you  grow. 

*'  Repining  at  losses  is  only  putting  pepper 
into  a  sore  eye.  Crops  will  fail  in  all  soils,  and 
we  may  be  thankful  that  we  have  not  a  famine. 
Besides,  I  always  took  notice  that  whenever  I 
felt  the  rod  pretty  smartly,  it  was  as  much  as  to 
say,  ♦  Here  is  something  which  you  have  got  to 
learn.'  Sammy,  don't  forget  that  your  school- 
ing is  not  over  yet,  though  you  have  a  wife  and 
two  children." 

4* 


42  THE    AMERICAN   MECHANIC. 

"Ay,"  cried  Sammy,  "you  may  say  that, 
•^nd  a  mother-in-law  and  two  apprentices  into  the 
bargain.  And  I  should  like  to  know  what  a  poor 
man  can  learn  here,  when  the  greatest  scholars 
and  lawyers  are  at  loggerheads,  and  can't  for 
their  lives  tell  what  has  become  of  the  hard . 
mo»ey." 

"  Softly,  Sammy !  I  am  older  than  you.  I 
liave  not  got  these  gray  hairs  and  this  crooked 
back  without  some  burdens.  I  could  tell  you 
stories  of  the  days  of  continental  money,  when 
my  grandfather  used  to  stuff  a  sulky-box  with 
bills  in  order  to  pay  for  a  yearling  or  a  wheat- 
fan  ;  and  when  Jersey-women  used  thorns  for 
pins,  and  laid  their  teapots  away  in  the  garret. 
You  wish  to  know  what  you  may  learn  ?  You 
may  learn  these  seven  things : 

"First,  TTiat  you  have  saved  too  little  and 
spent  too  much.  I  never  taught  you  to  be  a 
miser,  but  I  have  seen  you  giving  your  dollar  for 
a  *  notion,'  when  you  might  have  laid  one  half 
aside  for  charity,  and  another  half  for  a  rainy  day. 

"  Secondly,  That  you  have  gone  too  much 
upon  credit.  I  always  told  you  that  credit  was  a 
shadow  ;  it  shows  that  there  is  a  substance  be- 
hind, which  casts  the  shadow  ;  but  a  small  body 
may  cast  a  great  shadow  ;  and  no  wise  man  will 
follow  the  shadow  any  further  than  he  can  see 


THE    MECHANIC    IN    STRAITS.  43 

substance.  You  may  now  learn  that  you  have 
followed  the  opinion  and  fashion  of  others  till 
you  have  been  deooyed  into  a  bog. 

"  Thirdly,  That  you  have  been  in  too  much 
haste  to  become  rich.  Slow  and  easy  wins  the 
race. 

"  Fourthly,  That  no  course  of  life  can  be  de- 
vended  on  as  always  prosperous.  I  am  afraid 
the  younger  race  of  working  men  in  America 
have  had  a  notion  that  nobody  could  go  to  ruin 
on  this  side  of  the  water.  Providence  has  greatly 
blessed  us,  but  we  have  become  presumptuous. 

"  Fifthly,  That  you  have  not  been  thankful 
enough  to  God  for  his  benefits  in  time  past. 

"Sixthly,  That  you  may  be  thankful  that 
our  lot  is  no  worse ;  we  might  have  famine,  or 
pestilence,  or  war,  or  tyranny,  or  all  together. 

"  And  lastly,  to  end  my  sermon,  you  may  leam 
to  offer  with  more  understanding  the  prayer  of 
your  infancy,  '  Give  us  this  day  our  daily 
bread.' " 

The  old  man  ceased,  and  Sammy  put  on  his 
apron,  and  told  Dick  to  blow  away  at  the  forge- 
bellows. 


44  THE    AMERICAN   MECHANIC. 

m 

IX* 

THE    mechanic's   WIFE. 

In  America,  every  mechanic  is  supposed  to 
nave,  or  to  be  about  to  have,  a  wife.  The  many 
thousands  of  these  spouses  are  divided  into  sorts. 
Thus  we  have  good  and  bad ;  very  good  and 
very  bad ;  unspeakably  good  and  insufferably 
bad;  and — as  a  sort  of  par  expression — toler- 
able. It  is  not  every  good  woman  who  is  a 
good  wife ;  nor  is  it  every  good  wife  who  is  a 
good  wife  for  the  mechanic.  A  working  man 
needs  a  working  wife  ;  but  as  to  qualities  of 
mind,  manners,  and  morals,  she  cannot  run  too 
high  in  the  scale.  There  is  an  error  prevalent 
concerning  this. 

Giles  says,  "  I  do  not  want  a  wife  with  too 
much  sense."  Why  not?  Perhaps  Giles  will 
not  answer ;  but  the  shrug  of  his  shoulders  an* 
swers,  "  Because  I  am  afraid  she  will  be  an 
overmatch  for  me."  Giles  talks  like  a  simple- 
ton. The  unfortunate  men  who  have  their  ty- 
rants at  home  are  never  married  to  women  of 
sense.    Genuine  elevation  of  mind  cannot  prompt 


THE    mechanic's    WIPE.  45 

any  one,  male  or  female,  to  go  out  of  his  or  her 
proper  sphere.  No  man  ever  suffered  from  an 
overplus  of  intelligence,  whether  in  his  own 
head  or  his  wife's. 

Hodge  says,  "  I  will  not  marry  a  girl  who  has 
too  much  manners."  Very  Avell,  Hodge :  you 
are  right ;  too  much  of  any  thing  is  bad.  But 
consider  what  you  say.  Perhaps  you  mean  that 
a  fine  lady  would  not  suit  you.  Very  true ;  I 
should  not  desire  to  see  you  joined  for  life  to 
what  is  called  a  "  fine  lady,"  to  wit,  to  a  woman 
who  treats  you  as  beneath  her  level,  sneers  at 
your  friends,  and  is  above  her  business.  But 
this  is  not  good  manners.  Real  good  manners 
and  true  politeness  are  equally  at  home  in  courts 
and  farm  houses.  This  quality  springs  from  na- 
ture, and  is  the  expression  of  unaffected  good  will. 
Even  in  high  life,  the  higher  you  go  the  simpler 
do  manners  become.  Parade  and  "  fuss"  of  man- 
ners are  the  marks  of  half-bred  people.  True 
simplicity  and  native  good  will,  and  kind  regard 
for  the  convenience  and  feelings  of  others,  will 
ensure  good  manners,  even  in  a  kitchen :  and  I 
have  seen  many  a  vulgar  dame  in  an  assembly, 
and  many  a  gentlewoman  in  an  humble  shed. 
Nay,  your  wife  must  have  good  manners. 

Ralph  declares,  "  I  hope  I  may  never  have  a 
wife  who  is  too  strict  and  moral."     Now,  my 


46  THE    AMERICAN   MECHANIC. 

good  Ralph,  you  talk  nonsense.  Who  taught 
you  that  cant?  I  perceive  you  do  not  know 
what  you  mean.  Are  you  afraid  your  wife  will 
be  too  virtuous  ? 

"  Bless  me  !  no." 

Then  you  rather  prefer  a  moral  wife  to  an  im* 
moral  one  ? 

♦'  Surely." 

Are  you  afraid,  then,  of  a  religious  wife  ? 

"  Why  something  like  that  was  in  my  head ; 
for  there  is  neighbour  Smith's  wife,  who  gives 
him  no  peace  of  his  life,  she  is  so  religious," 

Let  me  hear  how  she  behaves  herself. 

"  Why,  she  is  forever  teaching  the  children 
out  of  the  Bible." 

Indeed !  And  you,  Ralph,  are  an  enemy  of 
the  Bible  ? 

"  O,  no !  But  then— ahem— there  is  reason 
in  all  things." 

Yes,  and  the  reason  you  have  just  given  is  that 
of  a  child,  and,  like  the  child's  because,  is  made 
to  do  hard  service.  But  let  me  understand  you. 
Does  Mrs.  Smith  teach  the  children  any  thing 
wrong  ? 

•'  O,  no  1  But  plague  it  all  1  if  one  of  them 
hears  Smith  let  fly  an  oath,  it  begins  to  preach 
at  him." 

Then  you  wish,  when  you  have  children,  to 


THE    mechanic's    WIFE.  47 

have  liberty  to  teach  them  all  the  usual  oaths  and 
curses,  and  obscene  jokes  that  are  common. 

"  Dear  me,  Mr.  Quill,  you  won't  understand 
me." 

Yes,  I  understand  you  fully :  it  is  you,  Ralph, 
who  do  not  understand  yourself.  Look  here. 
Mrs.  Smith  is  so  religious  that  if  she  proceeds  as 
she  has  begun,  her  children  will  break  their  father 
of  his  low  blasphemies.  I  hope  you  may  get 
just  such  a  wife. 

"  But  then.  Smith  can't  spend  a  couple  of 
hours  at  the  tavern  for  fear  of  his  wife  !" 

Ah  !  what  does  he  go  to  the  tavern  for  ? 

"  Just  to  sit  and  chat,  and  drink  a  little." 

And  how  does  his  wife  interfere  ?  Does  she 
fetch  him  home  ? 

"  No." 

Does  she  chastise  him  on  his  return  ? 

"O,  no!" 

Does  she  scold  him  then  ? 

"  No." 

What  is  it  then  that  disturbs  him  ? 

"  Why,  she  looks  so  solemn  and  mournful, 
and  shuts  herself  up  so  and  cries,  whenever  he 
is  a  little  disguised,  that  the  man  has  no  satisfac- 
tion." 

Good !  And  I  pray  he  may  hare  none  until  he 
alters  bis  course  of  life. 


48  THE    AMERICAN   MECHANIC. 

A  proper  self-respect  would  teach  every  noble- 
hearted  American,  of  whatever  class,  that  he 
cannot  set  too  high  a  value  on  the  conjugal  rela- 
tion. We  may  judge  of  the  welfare  and  honour 
of  a  community  by  its  wives  and  mothers.  Op- 
portunities for  acquiring  knowledge,  and  even  ac- 
complishments, are  happily  open  to  every  class 
above  the  very  lowest ;  and  the  wise  mechanic 
will  not  fail  to  choose  such  a  companion  as  may 
not  shame  his  sons  and  daughters  in  that  coming 
age,  when  an  ignorant  American  shall  be  as  ob- 
solete as  a  fossil  fish. 

Away  with  flaunting,  giggling,  dancing,  squan- 
dering, peevish,  fashion-hunting  wives  !  The 
woman  of  this  stamp  is  a  poor  comforter  when 
the  poor  husband  is  sick  or  bankrupt.  Give  me 
the  house-wife,  who  can  be  a  "  help-meet"  to  her 
Adam  : 

"  For  nothing  lovelier  can  be  found 


In  woman,  than  to  study  household  good, 
And  good  works  in  her  husband  to  promote." 

I  have  such  a  mechanic's  wife  in  my  mind's 
eye  :  gentle  as  the  antelope,  untiring  as  the  bee, 
joyous  as  the  linnet;  neat,  punctual,  modest,  con- 
fiding. She  is  patient,  but  resolute ;  aiding  in 
counsel,  reviving  in  troubles,  ever  pointing  out 
the  brightest  side,  and  concealing  nothing  but  her 


THE    mechanic's    WIFE.  49 

owu  sorrows.     She  loves  her  home,  believing 
with  Milton,  that 

■ "  The  wife,  where  danger  and  dishonour  lurks, 
Safest  and  seemliest  by  her  husband  stays, 
Who  guards  her,  or  unth  her  the  worst  endures." 

The  place  of  woman  is  eminently  at  the  fire- 
side. It  is  at  home  that  you  must  see  her,  to 
know  who  she  is.  It  is  less  material  what  she 
is  abroad ;  but  what  she  is  in  the  family  circle  is 
all-important.  It  is  bad  merchandise,  in  any  de- 
partment of  trade,  to  pay  a  premium  for  other 
men's  opinions.  In  matrimony,  he  who  selects  a 
wife  for  the  applause  or  wonder  of  his  neigh- 
bours, is  in  a  fair  way  towards  domestic  bank- 
ruptcy. Having  got  a  wife,  there  is  but  one 
rule — honour  and  love  her.  Seek  to  improve 
her  understanding  and  her  heart.  Strive  to  make 
her  more  and  more  such  an  one  as  you  can  cor- 
dially respect.  Shame  on  the  brute  in  man's 
shape,  who  can  affront  or  vex,  not  to  say  neglect, 
the  woman  who  has  embarked  with  him  for  life, 
"for  better,  for  worse,"  and  whose  happiness, 
if  severed  from  his  smiles,  must  be  unnatural  and 
monstrous.  In  fine,  I  am  proud  of  nothing  in 
America  so  much  as  of  our  American  wives. 
5 


50  THE    AMERICAN   MECHANIC. 


X. 


THE    MECHANIC    DOING    GOOD. 

The  duties  of  life  are  not  all  of  the  great  and 
exciting  sort.  There  are  many  duties  in  every 
day ;  but  there  are  few  days  in  which  one  is  called 
to  mighty  efibrts  or  heroic  sacrifices.  I  am  per- 
suaded that  most  of  us  are  better  prepared  for 
great  emergencies,  than  for  the  exigencies  of  the 
passing  hour.  Paradox  as  this  is,  it  is  tenable, 
and  may  be  illustrated  by  palpable  instances. 
There  are  many  men  who  would,  without  the 
hesitation  of  an  instant,  plunge  into  the  sea  to 
rescue  a  drowning  child,  but  who,  the  very  next 
hour,  would  break  an  engagement,  or  sneer  at 
an  awkward  servant,  or  frown  unjustly  on  an 
amiable  wife. 

Life  is  made  up  of  these  little  things.  Accord- 
ing to  the  character  of  household  words,  looks, 
and  trivial  actions,  is  the  true  temper  of  our 
virtue.  Hence  there  are  many  men  reputed  good, 
and,  as  the  world  goes,  really  so,  who  belie  in 
domestic  life  the  promise  of  their  holiday  and 
Sunday  demeanour.  Great  in  the  large  assembly, 


THE    MECHANIC    DOING    GOOD.  5J 

-they  are  little  at  the  fireside.  Leaders,  perhaps, 
of  public  benevolence,  they  plead  for  universal 
love,  as  the  saving  principle  of  the  social  com- 
pact ;  yet,  when  among  their  dependents,  they  are 
peevish,  morose,  severe,  or  in  some  other  way 
constantly  sinning  against  the  law  of  kindness. 

Why  do  you  begin  to  do  good  so  far  off^ 
This  is  a  reigning  error.  Begin  at  the  centre  and 
work  outwards.  If  you  do  not  love  your  wife, 
do  not  pretend  to  such  love  for  the  people  of  the 
antipodes.  If  you  let  some  family  grudge,  some 
peccadillo,  some  undesirable  gesture,  sour  your 
visage  towards  a  sister  or  a  daughter,  pray  cease 
to  preach  beneficence  on  the  large  scale. 

What  do  you  mean  by  "  doing  good"  ?  Is  it 
not  increasing  human  happiness  ?  Very  well ! 
But  whose  happiness  ?  Not  the  happiness  of  A, 
B,  or  C,  in  the  planet  Saturn,  but  that  of  fellow 
terrestrials  ;  not  of  the  millions  you  never  see,  so 
much  as  that  of  the  hundreds  or  scores  whom 
you  see  every  day.  Begin  to  make  people  happy. 
It  is  a  good  work — it  is  the  best  work.  Begin,  not 
next  door,  but  within  your  own  door ;  with  your 
next  neighbour — whether  relative,  servant,  or 
superior.  Account  the  man  you  meet  the  man 
you  are  to  bless.  Give  him  such  things  as  you 
have.  "  How  can  1  make  him  or  her  happier  ?'* 
This  is  the  question.     If  a  dollar  will  do  it,  give 


52  THE    AMERICAN   MECHANIC. 

Ihe  dollar.  If  advice  will  do  it,  give  advice.  If 
chastisement  will  do  it,  give  chastisement.  If  a 
look,  a  smile,  or  warm  pressure  of  the  hand,  or  a 
tear  will  do  it,  give  the  look,  smile,  hand,  or  tear. 
But  never  forget  that  the  happiness  of  our  world 
is  a  mountain  of  golden  sands,  and  that  it  is  your 
part  to  cast  some  contributory  atom  almost  every 
moment. 

I  would  hope  that  such  suggestions,  however 
hackneyed,  will  not  be  without  their  influence 

"  On  that  best  portion  of  a  good  man's  life, 
His  little,  nameless,  unj-emembered  acts 
Of  kindness  and  of  love."* 

In  a  season  of  great  reverses  and  real  suffering 
in  the  mercantile  and  manufacturing  world,  there 
is  occasion  for  the  luxury  of  doing  good.  The 
happiest  mechanic  I  ever  knew  was  a  hatter,  who 
had  grown  rich,  and  who  felt  himself  thereby  ex- 
alted only  in  this  sense,  that  his  responsibility  as 
a  steward  was  increased.     It  was  sacred  wealth, 

"  For  God,  who  gave  the  riches,  gave  the  heart 
To  sanctify  the  whole,  by  giving  part."t 

The  poorest  man  may  lessen  his  neighbour's 
load.  He  who  has  no  gold  may  give  what  gold 
cannot  purchase.     If  religion  docs  not  make  men 

•  Wordsworth's  Tintem  Abbey.  t  Dryden. 


THE   MECHANIC    DOING    GOOD.  S3 

who  profess  it  more  ready  to  render  others  happy, 
it  is  a  pretence.  We  are  to  be  judged  at  the 
last  by  this  rule.  The  inquiry  is  to  be  especially 
concerning  our  conduct  towards  the  sick,  the 
prisoner,  the  pauper,  and  the  foreigner.  The 
neighbour  whom  we  are  to  love  is  our  next  door 
neighbour ;  that  is,  the  man  who  falls  in  our  way. 
The  Samaritan  knew  this.  It'was  but  a  small 
pittance  he  gave :  the  poorest  among  us  may  go 
and  do  likewise.  Do  not  allow  a  townsman,  or 
a  stranger,  or  even  an  emigrant,  to  suffer  for  lack 
of  your  endeavours.  It  will  cost  you  little,  but 
it  will  be  much  to  him. 

« 'Tis  a  little  thing 
To  give  a  cup  of  water ;  yet  its  draught 
Of  cool  refreshment,  drained  by  fevered  lips, 
May  give  a  shock  of  pleasure  to  the  frame 
More  exquisite  than  when  nectarean  juice 
Renews  the  life  of  joy  in  happiest  hours. 
It  is  a  little  thing  to  speak  a  phrase 
Of  common  comfort  which  by  daily  use 
Has  almost  lost  its  sense ;  yet  on  the  ear 
Of  him  who  thought  to  die  unmourned  ^ twill  fall 
Like  choicest  music."* 

Let  no  one  be  surprised  at  my  quoting  choice 
poetry  to  mechanics.  Servile  boors  may  stare  in 
amaze ;  but  the  American  mechanic  is  no  boor. 

•  Mr.  Sergeant  Talfouid. 
.5* 


54  THE    AMERICAN    MECHANIC. 

Who  shall  dare  to  say  that  the  poorest  journey- 
man may  not  reach  forth  his  hand  in  the  garden 
of  the  muses  ?  And  who  shall  deny  to  the  honest 
labourer  the  solace  of  doing  good  ?  It  is  the  best 
work,  in  the  worst  times.  Help  others  and  you 
relieve  yourself.  Go  out,  and  drive  away  the 
cloud  from  that  distressed  friend's  brow,  and  you 
will  return  with  'a  lighter  heart.  Take  heed  to 
the  little  things — the  trifling,  unobserved  lan- 
guage or  action — passing  in  a  moment.  A  syl- 
lable may  stab  a  blessed  hope :  a  syllable  may 
revive  the  dying.  A  frown  may  crush  a  gentle 
heart ;  the  smile  of  forgiveness  may  relieve  from 
torture.  He  that  is  faithful  in  that  which  is  least, 
is  faithful  also  in  much  ;  and  he  that  is  unjust  in 
the  least,  is  unjust  also  in  much. 


THE  mechanic's  FOUR  TEMPTATIONS.     5-5 

XL 

THE    mechanic's    FOUR   TEMPTATIONS   IN 
HARD    TIMES. 

Of  the  city  of  Trenton  there  was  a  plumber, 
of  quiet  life  and  good  habits,  and  his  name  was 
Simon  Stark.  We  met  in  the  market  on  a  fine 
morning,  and  talked  over  the  distresses  of  the 
times ;  for  I  sometimes  go  to  the  seats  of  justice 
and  legislation,  and  always  take  pains  to  survey 
the  public  gatherings.  I  perceived  that  Simon 
was  in  trouble.  He  was  out  of  employment,  out 
of  money,  and  out  of  heart.  So  sad  was  his 
visage,  that  I  thought  of  him  all  day,  and  then 
dreamed  of  him  at  night;  and  my  dream  was 
this. 

I  saw  Simon  sitting  under  the  light  of  the  new 
moon,  at  his  back  door,  which  looks  into  a  small 
garden.  The  scent  of  roses  and  Bermuda  grape 
vines  filled  the  air.  He  clasped  his  hands  and 
looked  upward.  Occasionally,  the  voice  of  his 
wife,  hushing  to  sleep  a  half-famished  child, 
caused  him  to  groan.     Simon  was  pondering  on 


66  THE   AMERICAN   MECHAKIC. 

the  probable  sale  of  his  little  place,  and  the  beg- 
gary of  his  family. 

A  heavy  eloud  passed  over.  A  thin  silvery 
haze  veiled  the  surrounding  shrubbery.  An  un- 
accustomed whispering  sound  was  heard,  and  Si 
mon  rubbed  his  eyes  and  looked  up  wistfully. 

From  amidst  the  vapour,  a  figure  dimly  seen 
emerged  into  the  space  before  the  porch,  as  if 
about  to  speak.  It  resembled  a  haggard  old  man. 
He  seated  himself  near  Simon,  who  shuddered  a 
little,  for  the  visiter  was  lank  and  wretched  in 
appearance,  and  his  hollow  eye  shot  out  the 
glare  of  a  viper.  Hatred  and  anguish  were 
blended  into  one  penetrating  expression.  He 
trembled  as  he  spoke,  and  I  could  now  and  thea 
catch  a  word,  which  seemed  to  be  injurious  to 
the  character  of  various  persons.  Simon  was 
much  moved,  and  ever  and  anon  clenched  his  fist, 
smote  his  thigh,  and  muttered,  "  True,  true  !  all 
men  are  liars — all  men  are  oppressors — all  men 
«re  my  enemies !" 

The  old  man  drew  nearer,  and  spoke  more 
audibly :  "  Simon,  you  are  a  discerning  person. 
You  have  been  wronged.  The  habits  of  society 
are  tyrannical.  The  rich  grind  you  to  the  dust.  , 
The  poor  cheat  you  and  rejoice  in  your  woes. 
Learn  wisdom ;   forget  your  idle  forbearance ; 


'^THE  mechanic's  POUR  TEMPTATIONS.     57 

cease  from  womanish  love  to  the  race.  They 
are  all  alike." 

Then  there  was  a  pause ;  the  old  man  moved 
slowly  away,  and  Simon  gazed  on  vacancy,  as 
he  pronounced  several  times  the  syllable,  hate! 
hate!  hate! 

How  long  the  reverie  would  have  lasted  I 
know  not,  but  a  sweet,  fair,  cherub-like  child, 
thrust  its  curled  head  out  of  the  adjoining  win- 
dow and  said,  "  Father,  I  have  got  another 
verse,  '  Love  your  enemies,  bless  them  that  curse 
you,  do  good  to  them  that  hate  you,  and  pray  for 
them  which  despitefuUy  use  you.'  " 

Simon  arose,  shook  his  limbs,  and  said,  "  Now 
I  know  the  tempter!  It  is  the  demon  Misan- 
thropy.    Begone !" 

Again  I  looked,  and  Simon  had  aroused  him- 
self, and  was  looking  towards  the  garden  walk, 
where  a  tall  female  form  in  mourning  weeds  was 
approaching  with  grave  and  languid  pace.  She 
stood  over  the  poor  plumber,  who  shrank  from 
her  fascination,  for  there  was  an  unearthly  influ- 
ence issuing  from  her  leaden  countenance,  and 
he  seemed  benumbed  by  an  indescribable  night- 
mare. She  drew  from  under  tlie  folds  of  her 
mantle  a  phial  of  some  black  mixture,  which  she 
held  to  his  nostrils.  His  face  immediately  as- 
sumed a  hue  like  her  own :  it  was  the  visage  of 


SIS  THE    AMERICAN    MECHANIC. 

ihopeless  grief.  She  said  in  his  ear  with  a  se- 
pulchral tone  :  "  All  is  lost !  all  is  lost !  Think 
lof  your  wife  in  a  poor-house — your  dear  babes 
an  beggary  —  yourself  in  a  prison.  —  All  is 
Uost !" 

Then  there  was  a  pause,  during  which  Simon 
fseemed  bowing  towards  the  earth,  his  face  buried 
.in  his  hands.  The  phantom's  eye  lightened  with 
.&  flash  of  diabolical  joy,  as  she  slipped  into  his 
•/hands  a  glittering  dagger. 

At  this  instant  the  window  opened,  and  the 
iSame  lovely  child,  with  infantile  joy,  cried  out, 
"  Father,  listen  to  another  pretty  verse  :  '  Take, 
.therefore,  no  thought  for  the  morrow ;  for  the 
morrow  shall  take  thought  for  the  things  of  itself. 
Sufficient  unto  the  day  is  the  evil  thereof.'  " 

Simon  wiped  the  cold  moisture  from  his 
brow,  and  feebly  smiled ;  the  phantom  vanished, 
and  he  waved  his  hand,  saying,  "Begone, 
Despair!" 

I  then  saw  in  my  dream  that  the  clouds  cleared 
.away,  and  the  moon  shone  pleasantly  over  all  the 
neighbouring  gardens.  Simon  arose,  saying,  as 
he  took  a  turn  in  the  little  green  alley,  "  Surely 
I  must  have  been  asleep — I  will  walk  in  among 
the  flowers,  and  then  I  shall  not  be  haunted  by 
these  doleful  thoughts.  He  soon  found  every 
thing  take  a  more  cheerful  hue ;  and  just  as  he 


THE  mechanic's  FOUR  TEMPTATIONS.     59''.' 

began  to  recover  from  his  gloom,  he  thought  he 
heard  the  footsteps  of  some  one  entering  the  back' 
gate  of  the  garden.  He  moved  in  that  direction, 
and  met  a  gentleman  in  black,  with  a  gold-headed  ' 
cane,  gold  spectacles,  and  gold  chain — a  fair- 
spoken,  bright-eyed  man,  whom  he  thought  he: 
had  seen  at  one  of  the  banks.  Simon  was-  in- 
error,  for  he  had  never  seen  him  before. 

"  Mr.  Stark  ?"  said  the  stranger. 

"  That  is  my  name." 

"I  was   passing,  and  was   pleased  with   the 
smell   of  your   stock-gilley  flowers — thought  I  " 
would  look  in." 

"  You  are  welcome,  sir,"  said  Simon,  a  little 
surprised. 

"  And  since  I  am  here,"  said  the  gentleman, 
"1  should  like  to  hear  a  word  or  two  about  the 
state  of  money-matters,  as  I  am  rather  a  stranger' 
in  your  place." 

Simon  gave  him  the  information  sought,  m-' 
voluntarily  mingling  some  accounts  of  his  own 
trouble.  The  stranger  listened  eagerly  ;  his  eye-' 
gleaming  with  benevolent  interest,  while  he 
jingled  eagles  and  dollars  in  his  pockets.  Then 
wiping  his  glasses  with  a  white  handkerchief, 
and  settling  his  stock,  he  smiled  knowingly,  and 
said : 


Mfr     .'  :  THE    AMERICAN   MECHANIC. 

"  Stark,  I  am  glad  I  came  in.  I  am  some 
years  your  elder — have  been  abroad — know  the 
world — long  in  the  East  India  service — three 
years  cashier  of  a  bank — some  acquaintance  with 
finance.  Stark,  you  are  a  happy  man.  'Tis  an 
ill  wind  that  blows  nobody  good.  Let  us  go  into 
your  house,  while  I  untie  these  papers,  and  I'll 
put  you  in  the  way  of  making  your  fortune  in 
two  weeks.  I  know  your  look — you  are  too 
keen  a  one  to  fail  of  being  a  rich  man,  for  the 
sake  of  any  old  primer  proverbs.  Live  and  let 
live ;  that's  my  motto." 

They  went  in. — He  opened  piles  of  papers, 
some  of  which  resembled  uncut  sheets  of  bank 
notes.  I  could  not  hear  the  particulars,  but  Si- 
mon's face  glowed  at  beholding  a  purse  of  gold 
which  was  thrown  carelessly  on  the  table.  But 
while  the  gentleman  was  mending  a  pen  for  Si- 
mon to  write  something,  a  door  opened — the  dear 
little  girl  entered  with  an  open  book,  and  asked 
her  father  to  hear  her  read  the  following  passage, 
viz :  Proverbs,  chapter  first,  verses  10 — 19.  Upon 
which  the  strange  gentleman  looked  for  his  hat, 
and  vainly  tried  to  pick  up  the  card,  on  which  he 
had  given  his  address ;  he  departed  with  a  sul- 
phurous smell,  and  Simon  read  on  the  card  the 
name  of  Mr.  Fraud. 


THE  mechanic's  POUR  TEMPTATIONS.     61 

Simon  looked  as  if  he  rejoiced  at  a  great 
escape,  while  at  the  same  time  he  was  alarmed 
at  being  surrounded  by  such  bad  company.  He 
therefore  opened  his  closet,  and  took  a  draught 
of  ale,  and  then  went  to  the  door  to  see  who  had 
knocked.  It  was  a  beautiful  woman,  and  Simon 
was  about  to  call  his  wife,  but  the  visiter  said, 
with  a  voluptuous  smile, 

"  No,  do  not  call  her ;  my  visit  is  to  you. 
Several  of  your  friends  have  heard  of  your 
straits,  and  have  discovered  what  it  is  that  you 
want.  Could  you  relieve  me  from  this  faintness 
which  has  come  over  me  by  a  glass  of  wine  ?" 

Simon  of  course  took  a  glass  himself.  The 
lady  looked  lovelier  than  ever  —  her  cheeks 
were  roses ;  her  hand  was  velvet ;  her  breath 
was  the  perfume  of  the  vine.  She  enchanted 
poor  Simon  with  a  voice  of  music,  and  over 
another  glass  of  wine,  into  which  she  sprinkled 
certain  atoms,  he  began  to  feel  as  rich  as  Astor, 
as  happy  as  a  child. 

"Why,  0  why,"  said  she,  "have  you  al- 
lowed yourself  to  sink  in  despondency.  Live 
while  you  live  !     A  short  life  and  a  merry  one  !" 

And  Simon,  with  a  cracked  voice,  began  to 
carol,  Begone,  dull  care:  when  a  little  sweet 
voice  cried  through  the  key-hole,  "  Wine  is  a 
6 


62  THE    AMERICAN   MECHANIC. 

mocker^  The  lady  departed,  and  Simon  dashed 
the  decanter  to  the  floor,  exclaiming,  Begone, 
Intemperance ! 

And  I  awoke  from  my  dream. 


THE    MECHANIC'S    VACATION.  63 

XII. 

THE    mechanic's   VACATION. 

It  is  supposed  that  American  mechanics  work 
more  days  in  the  week  than  any  free  men  on 
earth,  as  it  is  certain  that  they  effect  more  m  a 
given  time  than  any  slaves.  For  even  where 
there  is  no  Sunday,  working  men  have  many 
festivals,  holidays,  and  fasts,  which  give  the  pre- 
text for  relaxation.  In  great  manufacturing  estab- 
lishments these  habits  of  persevering  labour  are 
sometimes  impaired  by  the  practice  of  assigning 
weekly  tasks  to  the  younger  workmen ;  but  in 
rural  districts  the  cheerful  hum  of  honest  toil  is 
heard  from  Monday  morning  until  Saturday  night. 
We  are  a  busy  people,  and  must  ever  be  so, 
while  high  prizes  are  held  out  to  all  alike,  and 
while  no  caste  excludes  the  labourer  from  attain- 
ing respectability  as  well  as  affluence.  Whether 
this  persistency  in  hard  work  has  a  good  moral 
tendency,  is  a  grave  inquiry  which  I  shall  leave 
to  more  profound  heads.  As  matters  stand,  the 
generality  of  the  productive  classes  have  no  volun- 
tary vacations.     The  lawyer  relaxes  between  his 


64  THE    AMERICAN   MECHANIC. 

terms ;  the  doctor  between  his  cases,  and  in 
healthy  seasons.  The  sallow  nervous  clergyman 
flies  to  Saratoga  or  Rockaway;  the  merchant 
leaves  town  for  the  dog-days  ;  but  my  neighbour 
the  saddler  seems  to  me  to  have  been  at  his  brisk 
employment  late  and  early  these  ten  years.  Thus 
It  is  with  multitudes  of  our  mechanics. 

These  are  thoughts  which  have  often  occurred 
to  me  when  passing  through  the  towns  and  villages 
of  Pennsylvania  and  New  Jersey ;  and  I  have 
mused  and  calculated  how  much  money  these  busy 
bees  must  have  laid  up  against  the  season  of  ice 
and  tempest.  Yet  I  am  not  sure  that  I  should  have 
alighted  on  so  happy  a  title  as  that  which  graces 
this  paper,  if  it  had  not  been  for  the  following 
incident.  On  a  prime  day  of  this  leafy  month  of 
June,  I  was  passing  along  that  beautiful  road 
which  leads  up  the  right  bank  of  the  winding" 
Raritan,  in  a  northwesterly  direction  from  New 
Brunswick.  There  are  few  more  desirable  drives 
in  Jersey.  The  hills,  divested  of  forest,  but  clad 
in  herbage,  stand  high  enough  to  invite  the  free 
access  of  every  breeze ;  in  this  resembling  the 
downs  of  England.  It  is  what  Old  Burton  would 
call  "  a  cotswold  country,  as  being  most  commo- 
dious for  hawking,  hunting,  wood,  water,  and  all 
manner  of  pleasures  :"  and  the  gentle  river  sleeps 
along  under  the  green  bank  with  a  quietude  which 


THE    mechanic's   VACATION.  65 

the  early  Dutch  settlers  of  Somerset  must  have 
regarded  as  paradisiacal.  It  was  the  season  of 
clover,  and  to  say  that,  is  to  say  enough  to  any 
man  who  lacks  not  the  two  great  senses  for  vege- 
table enjoyment.  In  the  corner  of  a  rank  field, 
besprinkled  with  a  million  of  fragrant  flowering 
heads,  and  under  the  shade  of  a  cherry  tree,  on 
which  the  earliest  blush  of  the  fruit  was  visible 
among  the  dark  green,  there  sat,  or  rather  re- 
clined, two  travellers.  Their  light  packs  lay  by 
their  side,  and  their  hats  were  flung  over  upon  the 
greensward.  One  was  a  man  about  sixty,  the 
other  a  mere  youth.  It  does  me  good,  now  and 
then,  amidst  our  business  stifi'ness,  to  snatcti  a 
scene  like  this,  which  half  realizes  some  of  the 
pastoral  pictures  of  my  boyish  reading.  There 
they  lay,  as  careless  as  though  Adam  had  never 
done  a  day's  work,  as  unafliectedly  rural  as  any 
vagabond  in  Gil  Bias,  or  any  shepherd  in  a  land- 
scape of  Poussin  or  Claude.  .i; 
I  mean  no  disparagement  to  a  respectable  and 
indispensable  craft,  (and  ancient  withal,  for  I  have 
before  me  good  authority  for  declaring  that  the 
"  merchant  tailors  were  completely  incorporated  in 
the  year  1501,  by  Henry  VII.,  their  arms  being 
argent  a  tent,  three  robes  gules,  on  a  chief  azure, 
a  lion  passant  regardant,  or  with  this  motto,  con- 
cordia  parvae  res  crescunt")  but  I  at  once  per- 
6» 


66  THE    AMERICAN   MECHANIC. 

ceived  them  to  be  tailors ;  by  what  free  masonry 
1  shall  not  define.  I  made  free  to  tie  my  horse 
and  join  company,  and  before  ten  minutes  had 
elapsed,  I  had  become  well  acquainted  with  their 
views  of  that  commercial  pressure,  of  which  no 
two  men  have  precisely  the  same  understanding. 
After  having  fully  learned  how  well  they  had 
thriven,  how  many  dollars  they  had  earned  each 
week,  how  handsomely  tliey  had  lived,  and  how 
all  their  hopes  had  been  dashed  by  the  loss  of 
employment,  I  adjusted  my  hat,  wiped  my  spec- 
tades,  and  after  a  few  grimaces,  such  as  all  lec- 
turers deem  suitable  to  an  exordium,  I  proceeded 
to  administer  a  little  admonition. 

I  perceive,  my  good  friends,  said  I,  that  tinies 
have  begun  to  pinch  you. 

"  Not  at  all,"  interrupted  the  elder,  "  we  are 
only  enjoying  the  Tailor^ s  Vacation.''^ 

Bravo !  cried  I,  forgetting  in  an  instant  my  pre- 
vious train  of  condolence,  there  is  a  new  idea, 
which  is  always  worth  a  day's  work  to  any  man. 

"  Not  so  new,  either,  with  Roger,"  said  tlie 
youth,  "  for  he  has  said  the  same  thing  at  every 
green  resting-place  since  we  left  Somerville." 

"  But  good,"  replied  Roger,  •'  whether  new  or 
old.  I  am  no  Ben  Franklin,  and  never  expect  to 
invent  any  thing  to  catch  lightning,  or  to  be  in 
Congress  ;  but,  for  all  that,  I  do  sometimes  moral- 


THE    mechanic's    VACATION.  67 

ixe  a  bit,  and  I  see  that  every  thing  goes  down 
better  with  us  under  a  good  name.  Pressure  is 
well  enough,  to  be  sure,  as  I  can  testify  when  the 
last  dollar  is  about  to  be  pressed  out  of  me ;  but 
Vacation  is  capital.  It  tickles  one's  fancy  with 
the  notion  of  choice.  '  Nothing  on  compulsion' 
is  my  motto.  I  have  often  tliought  that  if  I  were 
a  slave,  I  should  put  a  good  face  on  it,  and  strut 
among  my  tobacco-hills  with  a  show  of  good- 
will." 

So  you  keep  up  your  cheer,  said  I,  even  in  the 
worst  weather  ?  ^ 

"  Why  not  ?  I  am  learning  a  good  lesson. 
Fifteen  years  have  I  worked  without  losmg  a 
month  by  sickness,  or  a  day  by  dissipation.  I 
have  seen  others  resting,  but  I  have  scarcely  ever 
rested.  The  repose  which  they  got  by  driblets 
I  am  getting  by  wholesale.  I  am  learning  that  I 
have  worked  too  much,  saved  too  little,  and  made 
no  provision  for  winter  days.  It  would  be  a  bad 
state  of  things  in  which  men  could  feel  sure  of 
being  above  reverses.  The  pressure  impresses 
me  with  a  sense  of  the  instability  of  things.  Then 
it  tries  my  resolution.  He  who  wants  content 
can't  find  an  easy  chair.  *  Better  days  will  come,' 
as  my  good  old  mother  in  the  old-country  used 
to  say ;  I  have  had  sunshine,  and  perhaps  I  need 
the  shade.    There  is  a  saying  of  somebody,  '  I 


68  THE    AMERICAN   MECHANIC. 

myself  had  been  happy,  if  I  had  been  unfortunate 
in  time.'  It  is  time  enough  for  Frank  here,  but 
he  grumbles  more  than  I  do ;  let  him  lay  up 
wisdom  for  the  next  storm."  •  ' 

Sir,  said  I,  it  was  my  purpose  to  advise  you, 
but  I  had  rather  listen. 

Roger  blushed  and  smiled.. 

"It  is  a  way  I  have  got,"  said  he,  "by  talk- 
ing among  my  juniors.  Being  a  bachelor,  I  live 
among  boys,  and  perliaps  I  discourse  too  much  ; 
but  I  am  resolved  to  turn  the  best  side  of  my  coat 
outside.  And  if  I  live  through  this  pinch,  rely 
upon  it  I  will  be  more  wary.  True,  it  is  becom- 
ing a  bad  business,  and  before  two  days  more  I 
shall  be  like  the  tailors  of  Twickenham,  who 
worked  for  nothing  and  found  thread.  But  I  am 
learning.  Experience  keeps  a  dear  school,  but 
fools  will  learn  in  no  other.  I  can  dig  or  plough ; 
nothing  is  plentier  than  land,  and  my  weak  chest 
needs  the  balm  of  the  country.  It  is  worth  some- 
thing to  lie  among  this  clover ;  and  when  I  marry 
I  shall  have  more  adventures  to  tell  than  if  I  had 
grown  double  over  the  press-board." 

After  further  discourse,  I  left  the  cheerful  tailor 
enjoying  his  vacation. 


THE    mechanic's    CHILDREN.  69 

XIII. 

THE    mechanic's    CHILDREN. 

Let  a  group  of  children  be  gathered  at  a  school 
or  play-ground,  and  whether  they  be  rich  or  poor, 
gentle  or  simple,  they  Avill  coalesce  so  as  to  real- 
ize the  most  complete  levelling  theory.  If  this 
is  true  of  the  very  poor,  how  much  more  appa- 
rent is  it,  when  the  comparison  takes  in  the  off- 
spring of  the  well-doing  mechanic.  Children, 
take  them  one  with  another,  are  beautiful  crea- 
tures— at  least  in  America, — nay  all  the  world  over. 
Sir  Joshua  Reynolds  has  observed  that  children, 
until  mistaught,  always  throw  their  limbs  into 
graceful  attitudes.  I  trouble  myself  very  little, 
when  I  meet  a  rosy,  ingenuous,  clean,  and  happy 
child,  with  the  inquiry,  whether  it  be  aristocratic 
or  plebeian  in  its  origin.  John  Randolph,  of 
Roanoke,  was  often  in  the  habit  of  alluding  to 
certain  families,  as  having  no  ancestral  portraits. 
Now  I  question  whether  the  great  orator  would 
not  have  given  Bushy  Forest,  or  even  Roanoke, 
for  a  pair  of  boys.  It  is  better  to  have  fruit  on 
the  limbs,  than  ever  so  many  dead  roots  under 


70  THE    AMERICAN   MECHANIC. 

ground.  A  cluster  of  merry,  healthy  boys  and 
girls,  is  better  than  a  family  crest,  or  old  plate,  or 
faded  pictures,  or  a  genealogical  tree,  or  the 
pitiful  pride  of  penniless  grandeur.  These  olive 
branches  around  one's  table  afford  good  presump- 
tion of  a  certain  degree  of  health  and  virtue  ;  and 
are  just  what  the  effete  patricians  of  lordly  Britain 
often  sigh  for  in  vain.  Every  now  and  then 
some  great  family  goes  out,  like  a  dying  lamp, 
with  an  impotent  conclusion.  Blessed  are  those 
poor  men  who  are  rich  in  children  such  as  I 
mean ! 

I  plead  guilty  to  the  charge  of  living  at  the 
corner  of  a  very  narrow  alley  with  a  somewhat 
ignoble  name.  My  window  looks  upon  this 
humble  avenue,  which  is  properly  a  cul-de-sac. 
A.t  a  certain  hour  of  every  day  it  is  filled  with 
boys  and  girls  ;  for  at  the  further  end  of  it  there 
is  a  "  madam's  school."  My  writing  is  ever  and 
anon  interrupted  by  the  joyous  laugh  or  the 
scream  of  ecstasy  from  these  romping  creatures  : 
I  seldom  fail  to  look  out,  and  am  generally  as 
long  nibbing  my  pen  at  the  window,  as  they 
are  in  making  their  irregular  procession  through 
the  lane.  True,  they  have  pulled  a  board  off  my 
garden  fence,  and  foraged  most  naughtily  among 
my  gooseberries  ;  but  what  of  that?  I  have  many 
a  time  paid  a  heavier  tax  for  a  less  pretty  sight. 


THE    mechanic's    CHILDREN.  71 

They  are  happy :  and  so  am  I,  while  I  look  at 
thera. 

Surely  nothing  can  be  more  graceful  or  attract- 
ive than  the  fawn-like  girl,  not  yet  in  her  teens, 
not  yet  practising  any  factitious  steps,  and  not 
yet  seduced  into  the  bold  coquetry  and  flirting 
display  of  the  "young  miss."  Whose  children 
are  these?  The  children  of  mechanics;  almost 
without  exception.  Call  it  not  pride  in  the 
anxious  mother,  that  she  decks  these  little  ones 
in  the  cleanliest,  fairest  product  of  her  needle,  and 
shows  off"  with  innocent  complacency  the  chubby 
face  or  the  slender  ankle ;  call  it  not  pride,  but 
hve.  The  mechanic's  wife  has  a  heart;  and 
over  the  cradle,  which  she  keeps  in  motion  while 
she  plies  her  task,  she  sometimes  wanders  in 
musing  which  needs  the  aid  of  poesy  to  represent 
it.  She  feels  that  she  is  an  American  mother ; 
she  knows  her  boy  not  only  may  but  must  have 
opportunities  of  advancement  far  superior  to  those 
of  his  parents.  She  blushes  in  forethought  to 
imagine  him  illiterate  and  unpolished  when  he 
shall  have  come  to  wealth  :  and  therefore  she  de- 
nies herself  that  she  may  send  him  to  school. 

What  a  security  Providence  has  given  us  for 
the  next  race  of  men,  in  the  gushing  fulness  of 
that  perpetual  spring — a  mother's  heart !     1  said 


72  THE    AMERICAN   MECHANIC. 

I  was  proud  of  our  American  wives :  I  am  ready 
to  kneel  in  tears  of  thankfulness  for  our  American 
mothers. 

But  let  me  get  back  from  the  mothers  to  the 
children.  Our  future  electors  and  jurymen,  and 
legislators,  and  judges,  and  magistrates,  are  the 
urchins  who  are  now  shouting  and  leaping  around 
a  thousand  shops  and  school-houses.  Shall  their 
parents  live  in  disregard  of  the  duty  they  owe 
these  budding  minds  ?  I  am  half  disposed  to 
undertake  a  sort  of  lectureship,  from  house  to 
house,  in  order  to  persuade  these  fathers  and 
mothers  that,  with  all  their  affection,  they  are  not 
sufficiently  in  earnest  in  making  the  most  of  their 
children.  I  would  talk  somehow  in  this  way. 
"  My  good  sir,  or  madam,  how  old  is  that  boy  ? 
Very  well ;  he  is  well  grown  for  his  age,  and  I 
hope  you  are  keeping  in  mind  that  he  will  live  in  a 
different  world  from  that  in  which  you  and  I  live. 
Bring  him  up  accordingly.  Lay  upon  him  very 
early  the  gentle  yoke  of  discipline.  Guard  him 
from  evil  companions.  Save  him  from  idleness, 
which  is  the  muck-heap  in  which  every  rank, 
noisome  weed  of  vice  grows  up.  Put  work  into 
his  hands,  and  make  it  his  pleasure.  Make  him 
love  home ;  and  by  all  means  encourage  him  to 
love  his  parents  better  than  all  other  human  beings 


THE    mechanic's    CHILDREN.  73 

Allow  me  to  beg  that  you  will  not  fall  into  the 
absurd  cant  which  some  people,  parrot-like,  catch 
and  echo,  against  book  learning.  Determine  that 
this  fellow  shall  know  more  than  ever  you  have 
known  ;  then  he  will  be  an  honour  to  your  de- 
clining years.  Keep  him  at  a  good  school ;  re- 
ward him  with  good  books ;  and  he  will  one  day 
bless  you  for  it.  I  know  men  in  our  legislature, 
who  were  brought  up  to  hard  work,  and  are  now 
very  rich  ;  but  they  cannot  utter  a  single  sentence 
without  disgracing  themselves  by  some  vulgar 
expression  or  some  blunder  in  grammar.  They 
know  this,  but  have  found  it  out  too  late.  They 
feel  that  their  influence  is  only  half  what  it  might 
have  been,  if  their  parents  had  only  taken  pains 
to  have  them  well  taught.  Now  look  ahead,  and 
give  your  child  that  sort  of  fortune  which  no  re- 
verse in  trade  can  take  away." 

It  is  a  great  and  prevalent  error,  that  children 
may  be  left  to  run  wild  in  every  sort  of  street- 
temptation  for  several  years,  and  that  it  will 
then  be  time  enough  to  break  them  in.  This 
horrid  mistake  makes  half  our  spendthrifts,  gam- 
blers, thieves,  and  drunkards.  No  man  would 
deal  so  with  his  garden  or  lot ;  no  man  would 
Taise  a  colt  or  a  puppy  on  such  a  principle. 
Take  notice,  parents,  unless  you  till  the  new 
7 


74  THE    AMERICAN    MECHANIC. 

soil,  and  throw  in  good  seed,  the  devil  will  have 
a  crop  of  poison-weeds  before  you  know  what  is 
taking  place.  Look  at  your  dear  child,  and 
think  whether  you  will  leave  his  safety  or  ruin 
at  hazard. 


THE    mechanic's    CHILDREN.  75 


XIV. 

THE    mechanic's    CHILDREN. 

What  !  more  about  the  children  ?  Yes ;  for 
they  are  to  be  the  men  of  the  coming  age  ;  and  he 
has  looked  but  drowsily  at  the  signs  of  the  times, 
who  has  not  discerned  that  these  little  ones  are  to 
act  in  a  world  very  difl'erent  from  our  own.  The 
question  is,  shall  we  prepare  them  for  it? 

These  pauses  in  business,  these  cloudy  days 
of  distress,  are  given  us  for  some  end ;  perhaps 
as  intervals  of  consideration.  Let  us  then  con- 
sider the  ways  and  means  of  making  something  out 
of  these  beloved  representatives  of  our  very  selves. 
Let  us  build  something  of  the  spars  that  float  from 
our  wreck  ;  this  will  be  our  best  speculation. 

"  Let  us  know, 
Our  indiscretion  sometimes  serves  us  well, 
When  our  deep  plots  do  fail ;  and  that  should  teach  us 
There's  a  divinity  that  shapes  our  ends. 
Rough-hew  them  how  we  will."* 

Sit  down  among  your  little  children,  and  let  me 
say  a  word  to  you  about  family-government.  We 

•  Hamlet. 


76  THE    AMERICAN   MECHANIC. 

good  people  of  America,  in  our  race  for  self- 
government,  are  in  danger  of  not  governing  our- 
selves. Our  lads  grow  up  insubordinate — finding 
out  to  our  and  their  cost,  that  "  it  is  a  free  coun- 
try." An  English  traveller  could  find  no  hoys^  in 
the  United  States ;  all  being  either  children  or  men. 
The  evil  is  undeniably  on  the  increase.  Parents 
are  abandoning  the  reins  ;  and  when  once  this 
shall  have  become  universal,  all  sorts  of  govern- 
ment but  despotism  will  be  impracticable. 

Take  that  froward  child  in  hand  at  once,  or  you 
will  soon  have  to  be  his  suppliant  rather  than  his 
guide.  The  old  way  was  perhaps  too  rugged, 
where  every  thing  was  accomplished  by  mere  dint 
of  authority ;  but  the  new  way  is  as  bad  on  the 
other  side  :  no  man  is  reduced  to  the  necessity  of 
choosing  an  extreme. 

We  often  visit  houses  where  the  parents  seem 
to  be  mere  advisory  attendants,  with  a  painful 
sinecure.  Let  such  hear  the  words  of  a  wise 
Congressman  of  New  Jersey,  and  a  signer  of  the 
Declaration:  "There  is  not  a  more  disgusting  sight 
than  the  impotent  rage  of  a  parent  who  has  no 
authority.  Among  the  lower  ranks  of  people,  who 
are  under  no  restraints  from  decency,  you  may 
sometimes  see  a  father  or  mother  running  out  into 
the  street  after  a  child  who  has  fled  from  them, 
with  looks  of  fury  and  words  of  execration  ;  and 


THE    mechanic's    CHILDREN.  77 

they  are  often  stupid  enough  to  imagine  that  neigh- 
bours or  passengers  will  approve  them  in  their 
conduct,  though  in  fact  it  fills  every  beholder  with 
horror."  I  am  afraid  none  of  us  need  go  many 
rods  from  home  to  witness  the  like.  What  is 
commonly  administered  as  reproof  is  often  worse 
than  nothing.  Scolding  rebukes  are  like  scalding 
potions — they  injure  the  paiient.  And  angry 
chastisement  is  little  better  than  oil  on  the  fire. 
Not  long  since,  I  was  passing  by  the  railroad 
from  Newark  to  New  York.  The  train  of  cars 
pursued  its  furious  way  immediately  by  the  doOr 
of  a  low  "  shanty,"  from  which  a  small  child 
innocently  issued,  and  crossed  the  track  before  us 
just  in  time  to  escape  being  crushed  by  the  loco- 
motive. We  all  looked  out  with  shuddering, 
when  lo  !  the  sturdy  mother,  more  full  of  anger 
than  alarm,  strode  forth,  and  seizing  the  poor  in- 
fant, which  had  strayed  only  in  consequence  of 
her  own  negligence,  gave  it  a  summary  and  violent 
correction  in  the  old-fashioned,  inverse  method 
Inference  :  parents  often  deserve  the  strokes  they 
give. 

Implicit  obedience — and  that  without  question, 
expostulation,  or  delay — is  the  keystone  of  the 
family  arch.  This  is  perfectly  consistent  with 
the  utmost  afiection,  and  should  be  enforced  from 
the  beginning,  and  absolutely.     The  philosopher 


is  THE    AMERICAN    MECHANIC. 

whom  I  cited  above  says  of  parental  authority : 
*'  I  would  have  it  early  that  it  may  be  absolute, 
and  absolute  that  it  may  not  be  severe.  It  holds 
universally  in  families  and  schools,  and  even  the 
greater  bodies  of  men,  the  army  and  navy,  that 
those  who  keep  the  strictest  discipline  give  the 
fewest  strokes."  Some  parents  seem  to  imagine 
that  their  failures  in  this  kind  arise  from  the  want 
of  a  certain  mysterious  knack,  of  which  they  con- 
ceive themselves  to  be  destitute.  There  is  such 
a  knack ;  but  it  is  as  much  within  reach  as  the 
knack  of  driving  a  horse  and  chaise,  or  handling 
a  knife  and  fork,  and  will  never  be  got  by  yawn* 
ing  over  it. 

Not  only  love  your  children,  but  show  that  you 
love  them ;  not  by  merely  fondling  and  kissing 
them,  but  by  being  always  open  to  their  ap- 
proaches. Here  is  a  man  who  drives  his  child- 
ren out  of  his  shop,  because  they  pester  him ; 
here  is  another  who  'S  always  too  busy  to  give 
them  a  good  word.  Now  I  would  gladly  learn 
of  these  penay-wise  and  pound-foolish  fathers, 
what  work  they  expect  erer  to  turn  out,  which 
shall  equal  in  importance  ^e  children  who  are 
now  taking  their  mould  for  life.  Hapless  is  that 
child  which  is  forced  to  seek  for  companions 
more  accessible  and  winning  than  its  father  or  its 
mother. 


THE  mechanic's  chlldren.  79 

You  may  observe  that  when  a  working  man 
spends  his  leisure  hours  abroad,  it  is  at  the  ex- 
pense of  his  family.  While  he  is  at  the  club  or 
the  tavern,  his  boy  or  girl  is  seeking  out-of-door 
connexions.  The  great  school  of  juvenile  vice 
is  the  STREET.  Here  the  urchin,  while  he 
"  knuckles  down  at  taw,"  learns  the  vulgar  oath, 
or  the  putrid  obscenity.  For  one  lesson  at  the 
fireside,  he  has  a  dozen  in  the  kennel.  Here  are 
scattered  the  seeds  of  falsehood,  gambling,  theft 
and  violence.  I  pray  you,  as  you  love  your  own 
flesh  and  blood,  make  your  children  cling  to  the 
hearth-stone.  Love  home  yourself;  sink  your 
roots  deeply  among  your  domestic  treasures  ;  set 
an  example  in  this  as  in  all  things,  which  your 
offspring  may  follow.  The  garden-plant  seems 
to  have  accomplished  its  great  work,  and  is  con- 
tent to  wither,  when  it  has  matured  the  fruit  fot 
the  next  race :  learn  a  lesson  from  tlie  plant. 


80  THE    AMERICAN    MECHANIC. 


XV. 

THE    MECHANIC    IMPROVED  BY   LITERATURE. 

•    •    •    "  Strongest  minds 
Are  often  those  of  whom  the  noisy  world 
y       Hears  least ;  else  surely  this  man  had  not  left 
His  graces  unrevealed  and  unproclairaed. 
But,  as  the  mind  was  filled  with  inward  light, 
So  not  without  distinction  had  he  lived. 
Beloved  and  honoured — far  as  he  was  known. 
And  something  that  may  serve  to  set  in  view 
The  feeling  pleasures  of  his  loneliness, 
His  observations,  and  the  thoughts  his  mind 
Had  dealt  with — I  will  here  record." 

WORDSWOKTH. 

In  the  belief  that  the  common  mind  in  every 
age  is  best  reached  by  parables,  I  have  sometimes 
indulged  in  a  little  fiction ;  always,  however, 
using  the  invention  only  as  the  embroidered  veil 
of  truth ;  and  drawing  up  the  curtain  in  time  for 
the  serious  performance.  But  this  license  has 
made  it  necessary  that  in  what  I  am  about  to  re- 
late I  should  declare  every  jot  and  tittle  of  the 
story  to  be  absolute  fact,  to  the  best  of  my  know- 
ledge and  recollection.  Having  kept  no  memo- 
•"anda,  I  may  be  in  error  as  to  a  date,  or  the  exact 


IMPBOVED    BY  LITEBATUKE.  81 

suceession  of  events,  but  the  statements  may  be 
relied  on  as  in  every  main  point  true. 

It  is  now  more  than  twenty-three  years  since 
I  became  acquainted  with  a  coach-painter  in  a 
village  of  New  Jersey.  At  that  time  he  occu- 
pied a  very  small  shop  adjacent  to  a  larger  build- 
ing which  was  used  by  the  coach-maker.  Even 
in  early  youth  1  was  led  to  observe  something  in 
the  manner  and  countenance  of  this  man,  indica- 
tive of  superior  reflection.  1  shall  conceal  his 
name  under  that  of  August,  which  will  point 
him  out  to  many  who  knew  him.  As  I  advanced 
in  life,  I  gained  access  to  his  painting-room  and 
his  dwelling ;  and  as  he  was  particularly  kind  to 
young  persons,  I  passed  in  his  company  some  of 
the  pleasanlest  hours  which  it  is  my  fortune  to 
remember.  August  was  then  in  the  prime  of 
life,  and  his  character  and  habits  were  fully  un- 
folded. In  looking  back  upon  the  acquaintances 
of  many  years,  I  can  declare  with  sincerity,  that 
I  have  never  known  a  more  accomplished  man. 
In  his  trade  he  was  exemplary  and  approved. 
His  taste  led  him  to  make  excursions  beyond  the 
sphere  of  his  daily  work ;  and  I  call  to  mind  a 
number  of  portraits  and  fancy-pieces  which  orna- 
mented his  own  house  and  the  apartments  of  his 
friends.  I  am  not  prepared  to  say,  however,  that 
he  was  eminent  as  an  artist.     But  there  were  va- 


82  THE    AMERICAN    MECHANIC. 

rious  other  walks  of  life  in  which  he  was  a  mas 
ter.  He  was  fond  of  reading  to  a  degree  which 
wholly  interfered  with  the  care  of  his  business 
and  his  health.  Indeed,  he  Avas  a  devonrer  of 
books.  Attached  to  his  easel  one  was  sure  to 
lind  an  open  volume ;  and  sometimes  he  caused 
a  favourite  boy  to  read  aloud  while  he  was  grind- 
ing his  colours.  I  well  remember  that,  on  a  cer- 
tain day  when  he  had  to  walk  five  miles  to  do  a 
piece  of  work,  he  travelled  the  whole  distance 
book  in  hand ;  it  was  a  quarto  volume  of  Hob- 
house's  Travels. 

There  was  nothing  in  the  whole  circle  of  Eng- 
lish literature,  so  far  as  it  is  traversed  by  most 
professed  scholars,  with  which  August  was  not 
familiar.  He  had  made  himself  master  of  the 
French  language,  spoke  it  with  some  facility,  and 
*)ad  perused  its  chief  treasures.  Among  other 
jvidences  of  his  application,  he  put  into  my 
hands  a  laborious  translation  from  the  French,  of 
a  work  by  Latude,  detailing  the  events  of  his 
long  and  cruel  imprisonment ;  a  narrative  not 
unlike  that  of  Baron  Trenck.  In  my  youth  I 
read  this  with  avidity ;  and  some  years  later,  on 
the  death  of  August,  I  endeavoured  to  obtain  the 
manuscript  from  his  widow,  with  a  view  to  its 
publication  for  her  benefit.  We  were,  however, 
so  raw  in  the  matter  of  book-making,  as  to  con- 


IMPROVED    BY    LITERATURE.  83 

elude  that  the  public  taste  would  not  warrant  the 
adventure.  Many  years  since,  an  English  trans- 
elation  of  the  same  memoirs  has  been  published 
in  Great  Britain.  I  have  vividly  before  my  mind 
the  scene,  when  August  was  busy  with  his  pa- 
lette, in  a  rude  loft,  and  a  little  boy  seated  on  a 
work-bench  was  pouring  into  his  delighted  ear 
the  early  fictions  of  the  author  of  Waverley.  Sir 
Walter  himself  would  have  been  repaid  by  the 
spectacle. 

Such  tastes  and  habits  gave  a  richness  to  his 
mind,  and  a  refinement  to  his  manners.  August 
was  fully  suited  to  mingle  with  any  group  of  sci- 
entific or  literary  men.  His  love  of  talk  was 
unbounded,  and  his  hilarity  most  genial.  I  re- 
member no  acquaintance  whose  discourse  was 
more  stimulating  or  instructive.  Many  an  hour 
of  summer  days  I  whiled  away  in  his  shop,  list- 
ening to  the  sentiment,  humour,  and  wit,  which 
would  have  graced  any  company  I  ever  met.  All 
this  was  without  a  trace  of  self-conceit  or  arro- 
gance. His  conversation  was  the  easy  overflow- 
ing of  a  full  mind.  It  was  always  animated,  and 
always  arch :  there  was  a  twinkle  of  unutterable 
mirth  in  his  expressive  eye,  which  won  regard 
and  awakened  expectation. 

August  was  a  musician.  This  delightful  art 
had  been  his  solace  from  childhood.     He  played 


84  THE    AMERICAN    MECHANIC. 

on  several  instruments,  but  the  clarionet  was  that 
of  which  he  had  the  greatest  mastery.  Often 
have  I  heard  its  clear  melodious  tones  for  suc- 
cessive hours  on  a  summer  evening.  He  seemed 
to  use  it  as  the  outlet  for  those  musings  which 
found  no  vent  among  his  ordinary  associations ; 
for  most  of  his  performances  were  voluntaries 
and  fitful  capriccios.  Yet  he  was  a  sight-singer, 
and  read  even  intricate  music  with  ease.  It  was 
one  of  his  whims  to  have  a  number  of  flageolets, 
lessening  by  degrees  until  the  smallest  was  a 
mere  bird-pipe,  with  the  ventages  almost  too 
near  together  for  adult  fingers.  Such  is  the 
power  of  association,  that  to  this  very  day  I 
sometimes  amuse  myself  with  that  feeblest  of  all 
instruments,  a  French  flageolet,  in  affectionate  re- 
collection of  poor  August. 

I  have  heard  that  he  sometimes  wrote  verses, 
but  have  never  been  so  fortunate  as  to  alight  on 
any  specimen.  August  was  a  man  of  poetic 
tendencies,  living  habitually  above  the  defiling  in- 
fluences of  a  sordid  world,  and  seeking  his  plea- 
sures in  a  region  beyond  the  visible  horizon  of 
daily  scenes.  In  this  connexion,  I  ought  with 
great  seriousness  to  mention,  that  during  all  the 
years  of  my  acquaintance  with  him,  he  was  an 
open  professor  of  Christian  faith,  which  he  ex- 
emplified by  a  life  of  purity,  patience,  and  benevo- 


IMPROVED    BY    LITERATURE.  85 

lence.  His  family  was  a  -religious  household. 
When  he  came  to  enter  the  valley  of  poignant 
trial  with  which  his  life  terminated,  he  is  said  to 
have  evinced  great  joyfulness  of  confidence  in 
the  propitiation  and  grace  of  our  Lord  Jesus 
Christ. 

These  scattered  memorials  of  a  friend  of  my 
youth  are  grateful  to  my  feelings  in  the  delivery, 
but  are  given  with  the  higher  intention  of  inciting 
young  mechanics  to  seek  the  same  cultivation  of 
mind.  What  was  there  in  the  case  of  August 
which  should  deter  any  young  man  of  ordinary 
parts  from  attempting  to  gain  the  same  eminence  ? 
He  was  a  man  of  the  people  ;  he  was  under  the 
necessity  of  daily  labour  for  his  support ;  yet  he 
made  himself  respected  by  the  most  accomplished 
scholars  around  him,  as  a  man  of  mental  culture. 
There  was  no  magic  in  this.  Do  as  he  did,  and 
you  will  have  the  same  respectability,  the  same 
pleasures,  and,  perhaps,  the  same  knowledge. 
Seek  your  pleasures  in  mental  pursuits ;  disci- 
pline your  intellect;  read^read — read — and 
you  will  find  yourself  soon  in  a  new  world. 


8 


86  THE    AMERICAN   MECHANIC. 

i ' 

XVI. 

THE    mechanic's    DOG    AND    GUN. 

Nothing  can  be  more  natural,  than  that  a  man 
of  sedentary  and  confined  pursuits  should  feel  a 
strong  attraction  to  sports  of  the  field.  It  has 
been  so  in  all  countries  and  in  every  age.  The 
freedom  of  traversing  the  open  country,  in  fine 
weather,  with  a  sense  of  leisure,  and  the  buoyant 
excitement  of  expected  trophies,  has  something 
which  enchants  a  mind  at  ease.  And  it  cannot 
be  denied,  that  when  taken  in  moderation,  the 
amusement  and  exercise  of  the  sportsman  are 
highly  productive  of  vigorous  health.  The  Amer- 
ican, restrained  by  no  game-laws,  and  enjoying 
a  state  of  social  confidence,  which  in  most  cases 
prevents  any  vindictive  action  in  cases  of  tres- 
pass, is  led  to  exercise  his  prerogative ;  hence 
many  addict  themselves  to  this  recreation,  who 
have  no  great  taste  for  its  labours. 

There  is  something  independent  and  athletic  in 
the  pursuit  of  game,  and  this  is  particularly  en- 
chanting to  those  who  are  most  of  their  time  con- 
demned to   employments  within  doors,  which 


THE    mechanic's    DOG   AND    GUN.        87 

afford  little  active  exercise  to  the  limbs.  It  is  the 
same  principle  which  fills  our  volunteer  companies 
with  working  men  ;  the  great  majority,  and  the 
most  zealous  members,  are  commonly  from  trades 
which  are  the  least  manly.  When  a  boy  has  a 
fowlingpiece  on  his  shoulder,  and  a  trusty  dog 
gamboling  before  him,  he  feels  exalted  into  man- 
hood ;  and  we  are  all  children  of  a  larger  growth. 
After  all,  these  field-sports  are  not  to  my  mind. 
I  am  not  prepared  to  deiiounoe  them  as  cruel  and 
iniquitous,  or  to  debar  the  young  mechanic  from 
all  indulgence  in  them ;  but  they  are  seductive 
pleasures,  and  in  our  region  bring  in  their  train 
some  very  undesirable  consequences.  If  a  man 
is  an  indiff"erent  marksman,  it  is  a  poor  business, 
producing  little  fruit,  and  much  weariness  and 
chagrin ;  and  many  days  must  be  expended  be- 
fore great  dexterity  can  be  attained.  If,  on  the 
other  hand,  one  is  what  Miss  Sinclair  calls  "  a 
horse-and-dog  man,"  he  becomes  engrossed  in 
the  pursuit,  and  neglects  his  business.  To  say 
truth,  I  cannot  now  call  to  mind  any  mechanic 
remarkable  as  a  good  shot,  or  very  successful  in 
bagging  game,  who  was  not  at  the  same  time  dis- 
tinguished for  indolence  in  his  proper  calling,  or 
for  some  frivolity  of  manner,  or  looseness  of 
habits.  Every  fair  day  yields  a  temptation  to 
forsake  the  shop  for  the  field.    The  enthusiasm 


88  THE    AMERICAN   MECHANIC. 

of  the  chase  must  be  high  to  ensure  success  :  and 
when  high  it  scarcely  admits  of  sudden  checks. 
One  day  of  capital  sport  is  no  more  satisfactory 
than  one  glass  of  exhilarating  liquor ;  it  incites  to 
another  experiment ;  and  thus  I  have  known  days 
and  weeks  squandered  by  men  whose  business 
was  languishing  at  home. 

The  dog  and  gun  introduce  the  young  man  to 
strange  companions  ;  and  the  more,  as  his  skill 
makes  progress.  In  evefy  town  or  village,  there 
are  found  a  number  of  prime  fellows,  who  have 
learned  all  the  capabilities  of  the  Joe  Manton 
and  percussion  cap,  and  are  very  Nimrods  in  the 
field.  Such  persons  naturally  become  the  patrons 
and  oracles  of  the  inchoate  sportsman.  Such  a 
worthy  I  have  known  for  many  years,  and  his 
influence  has  been  only  evil  upon  two  or  three 
generations  of  amateur  fowlers. 

Ned  NicHOLWas  a  watchmaker  in  some  ancient 
day ;  for  he  is  now  on  the  wrong  side  of  sixty. 
His  ruinous  house  has  a  wing  which  is  never 
opened  to  the  street;  the  closed  windows  used  to 
show  an  array  of  watches  and  silver  spoons,  but 
he  seldom  enters  it  except  to  deposit  his  accou- 
trements, or  to  file  and  tinker  at  the  lock  of  his 
gun.  Around  his  door  one  seldom  fails  to  see 
three  or  four  setters  or  pointers,  duly  trained,  and 
for  laziness  fit  emblems  of  their  master.     All 


THE    mechanic's   DOG   AND    GUN.        89 

other  faculties  in  Ned's  nature  seem  to  have  been 
absorbed  by  the  faculty  of  following  game.  He 
has  ceased  to  pique  himself  on  his  ability  ;  it  has 
become  an  instinct.  No  doubt  he  could  load  and 
fire  in  his  sleep ;  as  indeed  I  knew  him  on  one 
occasion  to  bring  down  a  woodcock  while  he 
was  falling  over  a  broken  fence. 

Ned  is  sometimes  descried  in  the  dun  of  the 
morning  sauntering  forth  in  a  shooting-jacket  of 
many  colours.  His  appointments,  like  the  Indian's, 
are  for  use,  not  show.  His  game-bag  is  capacious, 
and  as  he  despises  the  coxcombry  of  patent  flasks 
and  chargers,  he  has  slung  around  him  a  gigantic 
horn,  which  he  has  decorated  in  a  whimsical 
manner.  Two  or  three  dogs  are  playing  in 
circles  before  him,  and  evince  far  more  life  than 
their  leader.  Ned's  impulse  is  pure  love  of  sport 
and  of  the  fields.  The  wilderness  of  swamps  and 
glens  has  been  his  Paradise.  What  he  bags  is 
never  talked  about  or  offered  in  the  market.  He 
is  of  course  a  venerable  character  in  the  eyes  of 
all  young  fowlers.  As  a  dog- trainer  he  is  un- 
rivalled, and  this  secures  him  the  attendance  of  a 
group  of  gaping  loungers,  who  consign  to  him  the 
education  of  their  puppies.  When-a  crazy  fire- 
lock labours  under  some  almost  immedicable  dis- 
ease, it  is  carried  to  Ned ;  and  hence,  on  a 
summer's  noon,  when  he  sits  under  his  great 
8* 


PP,        •     THE    AMERICAN   MECHANIC.  -   * 

shady  willow  washing  his  gun  or  worming  his 
dogs,  he  is  sure  to  be  encircled  by  inquirers. 
The  shadow  of  this  tree  is  his  dispensary. 

Strange  to  say,  though  everybody  recognises 
Ned  Nichol  as  a  good-for-nothing  knave,  it  is  the 
ambition  of  a  score  of  would-be  sportsmen  to 
imitate  and  accompany  him.  The  young  me- 
chanics who  follow  him  at  humble  distance,  need 
only  raise  their  eyes  to  His  tatters  and  his  tangled 
locks,  to  behold  what  they  will  become,  if  their 
idle  aspirations  prove  successful. 

The  wise  mechanic  will  scorn  to  be  a  poor 
shot  and  dread  to  be  a  good  one.  The  passion 
for  this  sport  becomes  a  mania,  and  ruins  multi- 
tudes. It  does  not  admit  of  partial  devotion ;  it 
cannot  be  indulged  for  mere  hours,  but  for  whole 
days,  and  for  day  after  day.  Then  how  paltry  a 
sight  is  it  to  see  a  full-grown  man  coming  home 
weary  at  night,  with  a  few  poor  robins,  a  half- 
grown  squirrel,  and  a  solitary  snipe — slain  on  the 
ground  !  It  is  a  far  different  thing  in  a  wild,  hunt- 
ing country,  where  there  is  abundance  of  deer  and 
wild  turkeys.  Here  the  use  of  the  rifle  becomes 
a  necessary  means  of  livelihood,  and  the  pack  of 
hounds  is  an  indispensable  part  of  one's  stock. 
Not  for  a  moment  would  I  throw  into  the  same 
class  the  fowler  of  our  Atlantic  towns  and  the 
frank  hunter  of  the  West.     There  is  something 


THE    MECHANIC  S    DOG   AND    GUN.         91 

at  once  picturesque  and  sublime  in  the  fortunes 
of  these  frontier  men ;  and  their  sports  are  lordly. 
But  there  is  something  inglorious  in  the  grave 
pursuit  of  tomtits. 

Shooting-matches,  where  a  number  of  harmless 
pigeons  are  let  out  to  be  scared  to  death  by  the 
conjpeting  heroes,  in  some  green  meadow,  with 
liquors  and  refreshments  spread  under  the  trees, 
are  scenes  of  rude  clamour,  and  usually  end  in 
drunken  brawls.  I  scarcely  know  why,  but  it  is 
an  unquestionable  fact,  that  great  attachment  to 
the  dog  and  gun  is  usually  coupled  with  other 
loose  pursuits.  The  famous  sportsman  is  some- 
times a  black-leg,  and  often  a  tippler.  Other 
flasks  than  those  for  powder  are  wont  to  sticK 
out  of  the  shooter's  pocket.  To  be  brief  and 
candid — if  you  desire  the  reputation  of  a  thriving 
artisan,  avoid  that  of  a  capital  shot. 


fjB  THE    AMERICAN   MECHANIC 

XVII. 

THE    MECHANIC'S   MORNINGS. 

"  Falsely  luxurious,  will  not  man  arise 
And,  leaping  from  the  bed  of  sloth,  enjoy 
The  cool,  the  fragrant,  and  the  silent  morn, 
To  meditation  due  and  sacred  song." 

Thomson. 

It  was  Franklin,  if  I  mistake  not,  who  uttered 
the  adage,  •'  If  a  man  lie  in  bed  late,  he  may  trot 
after  his  business  all  day,  and  never  overtake  it." 
There  is  no  class  of  men  concerning  whom  this 
is  more  true  than  mechanics.  Indeed,  it  is  so 
generally  received  as  a  maxim,  that  any  working 
man's  character  for  thrift  is  gone  if  he  is  not  an 
early  riser.  In  regard  to  mere  enjoyment,  it  is 
something  to  add  an  hour  or  two  of  conscious 
existence  to  every  day  of  life.  It  matters  not 
whether  we  make  our  days  longer,  our  years 
longer,  or  the  sum  total  of  days  and  years  longer: 
in  each  case  life  is  by  so  much  prolonged.  By 
making  this  addition  at  the  better  end  of  every  day, 
we  gain  much  in  the  quality  of  what  is  redeemed. 
An  hour  before  breakfast  is  commonly  worth  two 


THE    MECHANIC  S    MORNINGS.  93 

afterwards.  The  whole  day  is  apt  to  take  the 
colour  of  the  morning.  There  are  certain  things 
which,  if  not  done  early  in  the  morning,  are  likely 
to  be  left  undone  altogether.  Late  risers  are 
usually  indolent.  "  Love  not  sleep,  lest  thou 
come  to  poverty."  Late  rising  is  also  conjoined 
with  slovenliness  in  every  kind  of  performance. 
The  luxury  of  early  rising  is  a  mystery  to  the 
uninitiated.  People  of  quality  deny  themselves 
the  very  choicest  portion  of  a  summer  day. 

"  Sweet  is  the  breath  of  morn,  her  rising  sweet. 
With  chaim  of  earliest  birds." 

What  can  be  lovelier  than  the  aspect  of  nature 
at  sunrise,  during  the  season  of  flowers  ?  No 
man  knows  any  thing  about  the  music  of  birds 
who  has  not  heard  their  performances  between 
dawn  and  sunrise.  No  man  appreciates  the  un- 
bought  odours  of  the  vegetable  world,  who  has 
not  quaffed  them  at  this  hour.  Let  any  one  who 
has  been  so  unfortunate  as  to  keep  his  bed  at  this 
enchanting  season  of  the  day,  henceforth  amend 
his  habits.  He  will  find  himself  in  a  new  world. 
The  current  of  his  thoughts  will  flow  more 
healthfully  and  purely.  After  rising  early,  I  have 
often  thought  that  I  was  in  a  better  humour  with 
myself  and  others  all  the  succeeding  day.  This 
is  the  suitable  time  for  planning  out  the  day's 


94  THE    AMERICAN   MECHANIC. 

work.  No  thriving  man  can  live  without  method 
and  foresight ;  and  these  are  but  names,  where 
indolence  robs  us  of  the  day's  prime.  Every 
man  of  business  knows  how  idle  it  is  for  a  master 
to  indulge  in  sleep  in  the  expectation  that  his 
subordinates  will  at  the  same  time  be  diligently 
employed. 

The  duty  of  making  the  most  of  every  day 
should  be  inculcated  on  children.  Let  the  habit 
be  well  fixed,  and  it  will  never  leave  them. 
Whatever  may  be  the  change  in  their  circum- 
stances, and  however  they  may  affect  more  deli- 
cate fashions,  they  will  never  be  able  to  forget 
the  elasticity  and  fragrance  of  their  boyish  morn- 
ings :  nor  ever  prefer  the  sickly  damps  of  a  hot 
bed  to  the  refreshing  breezes  of  dawn. 

Under  another  head  I  will  give  an  instance  or 
two  of  surprising  attainments  in  learning,  made  in 
early  hours  redeemed  from  sleep,  by  labouring 
men.  In  every  thing  that  concerns  the  mind, 
the  morning  is  invaluable.  After  the  repose  and 
corroboration  of  sleep,  the  spirits  are  new-made, 
and  the  faculties  act  with  twofold  alacrity. 
Hence  the  ancient  proverb,  Aurora  is  a  friend 
to  the  Muses.  On  this  account,  I  would  venture 
to  commend  to  mechanics  the  practice  of  getting 
all  their  pecuniary  accounts  into  proper  order  be- 
fore breakfast.     It  is  well  known  that  many  in- 


THE    mechanic's   MORNINGS.  96 

dustrious  and  sober  men  get  behindhand  in  theit 
affairs,  simply  because  their  books  become  de- 
ranged. This  derangement  frequently  arises 
from  the  great  hurry  of  business  during  the  day, 
which  prevents  a  leisurely  settlement.  Where  a 
man  is  not  much  versed  in  arithmetic  and  book- 
keeping, these  settlements  are  somewhat  serious 
affairs,  and  cannot  be  duly  performed  at  a  counter 
among  customers,  or  in  the  hum  of  a  busy  shop. 
Let  the  master-mechanic  rise  an  hour  earlier  than 
is  usual,  for  this  very  purpose.  He  will  then 
have  unbroken  time  for  his  accounts ;  and  will 
be  able,  with  great  satisfaction,  to  enter  on  the 
day's  work,  with  the  feeling  that  his  papers  and 
books  are  in  a  good  state.  A  little  of  this  every 
morning  will  soon  make  itself  felt ;  constant 
dropping  wears  away  the  rock.  This  practice  is  / 
immensely  better  than  that  of  leaving  this  ugly 
job  until  night,  when  there  is  an  urgent  temptar 
tion  to  neglect  it  altogether.  I  need  not  say  that 
tile  practice  of  posting  one's  books  on  Sunday 
is  at  once  profane  and  injurious. 

Let  me  quote  Milton ;  for  it  is  a  part  of  my 
creed,  that  the  great  masterpieces  of  human 
genius  are  a  part  of  the  working  man's  inherit- 
ance. Some  one  had  spoken  of  the  poet's  morn- 
ing haunts :  he  replies  with  just  indignation : 
"  These  morning  haunts  are  where  they  should 


99  THE    AMERICAN    MECHANIC. 

be,  at  home  ;  not  sleeping,  or  concocting  the  sur- 
feits of  an  irregular  feast,  but  up  and  stirring,  in 
winter  often  ere  the  sound  of  any  bell  to  awaken 
men  to  labour  or  to  devotion  ;  in  summer  as  oft 
with  the  bird  that  first  rouses,  or  not  much  tardier, 
to  read  good  authors,  or  cause  them  to  be  read, 
till  the  attention  be  weary,  or  memory  have  its 
full  fraught."  For  the  same,  or  other  purposes, 
such  as  our  business  may  render  important,  let 
us  shake  off  slumber,  and  enjoy  the  happiest 
hours  of  the  twenty-four. 

The  influence  of  early  rising  upon  health  may 
have  been  overrated  by  zealots,  yet  none  can 
deny  the  great  salubrity  of  the  practice.  Too 
much  sleep  is  relaxing  to  the  animal  fibre,  and 
instead  of  rendering  one  less  drowsy  through  the 
day,  is  often  observed  to  induce  a  lethargic  state 
of  mind  and  body.  Early  rising  presupposes 
good  hours  at  night ;  and  these  afford  a  good  se- 
curity to  health  as  well  as  morals.  It  is  too  often 
the  case,  that  young  mechanics,  after  a  day  of 
hard  work,  give  themselves  the  license  of  passing 
many  hours  of  the  night  in  street-walking,  ca- 
rousing, or  tavern-haunting. 

There  is  one  class  of  duties  still  to  be  men- 
tioned, which  demands  the  proper  use  of  the 
morning  hours ;  I  mean  the  exercises  of  devo- 
tion.    The  cry  echoes  every  morning  from  the 


THK    mechanic's    MORNINGS.  97 

turrets  of  Mohammedan  mosques,  Prayer  is  bet' 
ter  than  sleep .'  Prayer  is  better  than  sleep ' 
The  man,  whether  rich  or  poor,  who  never  com 
munes  with  God  and  with  his  own  heart,  lives 
like  a  brute.  Natural  religion  may  suffice  to 
teach  us  that  our  first  thoughts  are  due  to  God. 
In  this  connexion,  one  cannot  but  be  reminded 
of  the  brilliant  passage  of  the  Shakspeare  of 
preachers :  "  When  the  sun  approaches  to- 
wards the  gates  of  the  morning,  he  first  opens  a 
little  eye  of  heaven,  and  sends  away  the  spirits 
of  darkness,  and  gives  light  to  a  cock,  and  calls 
up  the  lark  to  matins,  and  by-and-by  gilds  the 
fringes  of  a  cloud, and  peeps  over  the  eastern  hills, 
thrusting  out  his  golden  horns,  like  those  which 
decked  the  brow  of  Moses,  when  he  was  forced 
to  wear  a  veil,  because  he  himself  had  seen  the 
face  of  God;  and  still,  while  a  man  tells  the 
story,  the  sun  gets  higher  and  higher,  till  he 
shows  a  fair  face  and  a  full  light,  and  then  he 
shines  one  whole  day."* 

Amidst  the  fragrance  and  sabbath  quiet  of 
morning,  all  nature  allures  us  to  serious  and 
thankful  consideration.  When  the  beautiful  face 
of  the  world,  refreshed  by  the  moisture  and  the 
coolness  of  night,  bursts  once  more  upon  our 
view,  it  is  a  dictate  of  every  good  feeling  within 

•  Jeremy  Taylor. 
9 


1WI  THE    AMERICAN    MECHANIC. 

US,  to  elevate  our  hearts  to  our  Creator  and  Re- 
deemer.    The  devout  and  rational  soul  will  say : 

"  Witness  if  I  be  silent,  morn  or  even, 
To  hill  or  valley,  fountain,  or  fresh  shade, 
Made  vocal  by  my  song,  and  taught  his  praise. 
Hail !  universal  Lord !  be  bounteous  still 
To  give  us  only  good ;  and  if  the  night 
Have  gathered  aught  of  evil,  or  concealed. 
Disperse  it,  as  now  light  dispels  the  dark." 


•THis  mechanic's  friends.  99 

XVIII. 

THE    mechanic's    FRIENDS. 

It  is  a  wise  direction  of  a  certain  philosopher, 
that  every  man,  as  he  advances  in  life,  should 
contract  new  friendships  among  men  younger 
than  himself.  The  reason  is  obvious.  Every 
year  lessens  the  circle  of  our  youthful  coevals, 
and  the  old  man  often  finds  himself  going  down 
the  hill  of  life  absolutely  bereft  of  every  friend  of 
his  boyhood.  We  must  therefore  do  what  we 
can  to  repair  these  wastes,  and  indemnify  our- 
selves for  those  heavy  losses. 

A  celebrated  poet  has  given  us  a  memorable 
verse  on  this  subject :  Poor  ia  the  friendless 
master  of  a  world !  But  this  is  only  the  voice 
of  all  history,  philosophy,  and  song,  as  well  as 
of  the  proverbs  of  all  ages  and  nations.  One  of 
the  loveliest  productions  of  the  most  eloquent  of 
Romans  is  on  the  subject  of  Friendship ;  and 
when  we  moralize,  we  are  all  apt  to  harp  on  the 
same  string. 

The  mechanic  needs,  no  less  than  other  men, 
tlie  solace  and  profit  of  friendly  connexions  ;  and 


100  THE    AMERICAN   MECHANIC. 

yet  I  fear  the  value  of  this  treasure  is  sometimes 
overlooked  in  our  hurry  to  gain  wealth.  The  love 
of  money  being  a  root  of  all  evil,  produces  a  great 
harm  in  this  very  direction.  It  is  a  selfish  pas- 
sion ;  and  all  selfish  passions  narrow  and  sear  the 
heart.  Therefore  it  is,  that  we  look  more  readily 
for  warm  friendships  in  the  simple  scenes  of 
rural  and  pastoral  society. 

Let  me  indulge  my  humour  by  recording 
sketches  of  two  very  dissimilar  characters.  There 
was  a  thriving  silversmith  in  our  village  in  years 
gone  by.  He  was  a  moral  and  industrious  man, 
and  a  clever  workman  ;  so  that  he  rapidly  gather- 
ed a  little  property,  sufficient  to  make  him  com- 
fortable for  life.  Harper,  for  so  I  shall  call  him, 
was  a  bachelor,  and  had  no  kinsfolk  in  our  neigh- 
bourhood but  a  mother  and  two  sisters,  with 
whom  he  resided.  He  was  regular  in  his  engage- 
ments, and  punctual  in  every  part  of  business. 
You  were  sure  to  meet  him  at  a  certain  hour  at 
market  and  at  church.  But  it  was  observed  that 
he  never  appeared  in  company.  His  walks  were 
always  solitary.  He  visited  nobody  ;  and  nobody 
visited  him.  So  it  continued  to  be,  year  after 
year,  until  he  became  a  grey-headed  man.  Yet 
he  was  said,  by  those  who  sometimes  called  on 
his  family,  to  be  pleasant  enough  in  his  own 
house.     I  never  heard  a  whisper  of  any  unkind* 


THE    mechanic's    FRIENDS.  101 

nes9  between  him  and  his  mother  or  sisters.  Still 
he  was  a  friendless  man.  Without  being  posi- 
tively surly,  he  was  selfish.  He  had  his  pleasures 
and  his  pains  all  to  himself.  True,  he  hurt  no 
one  ;  but  he  helped  no  one.  As  well  might  he 
have  lived  on  Crusoe's  island,  for  any  contribu- 
tion that  he  made  to  the  stock  of  social  enjoy- 
ment. 

Harper  was  not  a  misanthrope  ;  yet  he  had  no 
tenderness  for  his  fellow  men.  He  confided  no- 
thing to  them,  and  he  sought  not  their  confidence. 
The  next-door  neighbour  might  be  sick  in  bed, 
but  Harper  visited  him  not.  He  seemed  to  in- 
dulge a  proud  independence,  and  to  seek  nothing 
so  much  as  to  be  let  alone.  This  will  not  do  in 
such  a  world  as  ours.  The  trait  is  unamiable, 
and,  I  doubt  not,  usually  meets  with  a  retribution 
in  Providence.  As  Harper  grew  older,  his  habits 
became  more  rigid.  He  had  enjoyed  the  kind 
offices  of  his  female  relations  so  long,  that  he  had 
forgotten  that  they  were  not  immortal.  His  aged 
mother  died.  This  gave  him  a  severe  shock,  but 
did  not  alter  his  habits ;  he  only  clung  more 
closely  to  the  survivors.  After  a  few  years,  the 
younger  of  his  sisters  married  and  removed  to  the 
West.  The  brother  and  remaining  sister  were 
now  inseparable  ;  but  at  length  this  sister  fell  into 
a  decline,  and  finally  died.  Poor  Harper  had 
9* 


103  THE    AMERICAN    MECHANIC. 

made  no  provision  for  such  a  state  of  things.  He 
had  become  rich,  but  his  wealth  could  not  brighten 
his  long  melancholy  evenings.  He  was  friend- 
less ;  even  if  he  had  been  willing  to  seek  new 
alliances,  he  had  outlived  the  ductile  period  when 
friendship  takes  its  mould.  His  latter  days  were 
cheerless ;  he  sank  in  hopeless  melancholy  ;  and 
when  he  died,  I  presume  there  was  no  human 
creature  who  felt  the  loss,  even  for  a  moment. 

I  gladly  change  the  subject,  foi  the  sake  of  in- 
troducing another  mechanic,  Joseph  Ritson. 
Joseph  is  still  living,  and  with  as  much  enjoy- 
ment of  life  as  any  man  I  have  ever  known.  He 
also  is  industrious  and  successful,  but  after  another 
sort.  His  maxim  has  been  that  of  Solomon : 
"  He  that  is  a  friend  must  show  himself  friend- 
ly." Joseph  is  one  whom  you  would  sooner 
love  than  revere.  He  has  marked  faults,  but  they 
are  on  the  side  of  frankness  and  generosity.  If 
any  inhabitant  of  our  village  should  be  asked, 
*'  What  man  of  your  acquaintance  has  most 
friends  ?"  I  doubt  not  the  unhesitating  reply 
would  be,  "  Joseph  Ritson." 

Several  sets  of  apprientices  liave  issued  from 
his  shop,  to  all  of  whom  he  stands  almost  in  the 
relation  of  a  father.  He  has  made  it  his  business 
to  seek  out  promising  young  lads,  and  help  them 
on  in  the  world.     In  every  one  of  these  lie  will 


THE    mechanic's    FRIENDS.  103 

find  a  fast  friend.  No  day  passes  in  which  he 
may  not  be  seen  going  with  a  hearty,  open  coun- 
tenance into  the  houses  of  the  neighbours  ;  and 
his  face  always  carries  a  sort  of  sunshine  with  it.- 
His  own  house  is  the  abode  of  hospitality.  In- 
deed he  has  harboured  more  travellers,  and  lodged 
more  strangers,  than  any  man  I  ever  knew. 
There  is  not  a  poor  family  in  our  neighbourhood 
who  is  not  acquainted  with  him.  When  any  one 
is  sick,  Joseph  is  sure  to  find  it  out,  and  to  be 
on  the  spot  before  the  minister,  and  often  before 
the  doctor.  Whenever  a  man  falls  into  trouble, 
he  resorts,  by  a  kind  of  instinct,  to  Joseph 
Ritson.  In  consequence  of  this  temper,  he  is,  I 
confess,  often  imposed  upon  ;  but  what  then  1  he 
has  vastly  more  enjoyment  than  if  he  never  made 
a  mistake.  Business  crowds  upon  him  rather  too 
fast,  for  he  is  executor  to  half  a  dozen  estates,  and 
is  really  overladen  with  other  people's  affairs. 
But  then  he  has  his  reward.  Man  is  made  for 
affectionate  intercourse.  Joseph  is  always  en- 
joying the  genial  flow  of  kindly  emotions.  Every 
day  he  feels  the  warm  grasp  from  hands  of  those 
whom  he  has  befriended.  As  he  advances  in  life, 
he  will  find  himself  surrounded  by  those  who  love 
him,  and  who  will  be  the  friends  of  his  children 
after  him.     Besides  this,  he  possesses  the  un- 


KM  THE    AMERICAN    MECHANIC. 

speakable  satisfaction  which  arises  from  the  exer*- 
cise  of  true  benevolence. 

I  trust  these  lines  will  not  be  altogether  lost 
upon  young  mechanics.  They  should  early  learn 
the  value  of  real  friendship ;  not  that  which  is 
cemented  by  association  in  vice,  and  always  ruin- 
ous ;  nor  that  which  springs  from  indiscriminate 
and  jovial  intercourse  ;  but  such  as  is  the  fruit  of 
wise  selection,  founded  on  cordial  esteem.  1 
would  say  to  the  young  man — fail  not  to  have  a 
small  circle  of  true  friends.  Choose  your  own 
companions,  and  do  not  allow  yourself  to  be  the 
intimate  of  every  one  who  may  choose  you.  Be- 
ware of  immoral  comrades.  The  man  who  is  not 
true  to  his  own  conscience,  will  never  be  true  to 
you.  Shun  the  man  who  has  even  once  been 
guilty  of  falsehood.  Cultivate  no  friendship  over 
strong  drink.  "  Make  no  friendship  with  an 
angry  man,  and  with  a  furious  man  thou  shalt 
not  go ;  lest  thou  learn  his  ways,  and  get  a  snare 
to  thy  soul."  Be  slow  in  choosing  a  friend,  but 
once  chosen  do  not  forsake  him  for  slight  faults. 
One  friend  of  your  boyhood  is  worth  a  dozen  of 
later  growth.  And  make  it  your  purpose  to  stand 
by  a  friend  to  the  very  last  drop  of  your  blood. 


THE  mechanic's  CHANGE  OF  TRADE.  105 

XIX. 

THE  mechanic's  CHANGE  OP  TRADE. 

There  is  something  in  the  homespun  philo- 
sophy of  Uncle  Benjamin  which  always  secures 
my  attention.  Rude  as  it  is,  it  has  that  strength 
which  is  often  wanting  in  schools  and  books. 
Uncle  Benjamin  has  never  read  Lord  Chester- 
field, and,  therefore,  has  not  learned  how  exceed- 
ingly vulgar  it  is  to  use  a  common  proverb  ;  in- 
deed, these  concentrated  morsels  of  wisdom, 
handed  down  from  father  to  son,  form  a  consi- 
derable portion  of  his  discourse.  Poor  Richard 
is  his  favourite  author,  and  if  his  son  Sammy  has 
not  become  a  ripe  proverbialist,  it  is  his  own 
fault. 

I  regret  to  say  that  Sammy  is  sadly  destitute 
of  thrift.  Being  disappointed  in  the  trade  to 
which  he  was  brought  up,  he  has  been  thinking 
of  a  change  to  some  other  business.  But  no 
sooner  did  the  old  man  hear  of  this  freak,  than 
he  hobbled  over  to  his  son's  as  fast  as  his  legs 
and  staff  would  carry  him,  and  without  ceremony 
opened  the  business  thus : 


10^  THE    AMERICAN   MECHANIC. 

"Ah,  Sammy,  so  you  are  going  to  break 
ground  in  a  new  place,  and  begin  life  over 
again !" 

"  Why,  yes,  father :  I  make  out  so  poorly  at 
my  trade,  and  the  times  are  so  hard." 

"  Let  the  times  alone,  Sammy.  They  will  be 
as  bad,  I  dare  say,  for  your  new  trade.  The 
fault  is  not  in  the  horse  but  the  rider :  not  in 
the  trade  but  the  tradesman.  You  will  run 
through  many  callings  before  you  outrun  lazi- 
ness. Look  about  you,  and  see  if  you  can  find 
one  man  who  has  bettered  himself  by  forsaking 
his  business.  We  have  many  such  ;  jacks-of-all- 
trades  and  masters  of  none.  You  know  the  old 
saw,  '  the  rolling  stone  gathers  no  moss.'  My 
advice  to  you  is,  to  go  forward  in  the  road  you 
are  in :  it  is  waste  of  life  to  open  a  new  road 
and  take  a  fresh  start  every  few  years." 

"  But,  father,"  said  Sammy,  "  the  times  are 
altered,  and  there  are  new  chances  for  rising  in 
the  world.  A  great  many  of  my  acquaintances 
are  growing  tired  of  being  little  country-mecha- 
nics.    I  am  not  alone  in  my  notions." 

"  Perhaps  not,  Sammy.  If  all  fools  wore 
white  caps,  we  should  look  like  a  flock  of  geese : 
most  of  our  working  men  seem  bitten  by  the 
gadfly  of  change.  But  they  may  turn  and  turn, 
and  gain  nothing  until  they  change  their  habits. 


THE  mechanic's  CHANGE  OF  TRADE.   107 

With  a  good  trade,  good  health,  good  habits,  and 
&  good  wife,  any  man  may  grow  wealthy.  But 
pray  what  is  to  become  of  a  man's  seven  years' 
apprenticeship,  when  he  goes  into  a  new  busi- 
ness ? — Would  you  throw  this  into  the  sea  ?" 

"  O,  no,  father !  That  would  be  all  loss,  if  I 
trere  going  to  slave  it  again  at  the  anvil ;  but  I 
mean  only  to  superintend  the  work  of  others." 

"That  indeed !"  cried  the  old  man.  "  I  begin 
to  see  your  drift.  You  are  going  to  leave  a  trade 
to  which  you  were  bred,  for  one  of  which  you 
know  little  or  nothing.  You  are  going  from  an 
t)ld  business,  in  which  you  have  to  work  with 
your  own  hands,  to  a  new  one  in  which  you  ex- 
pect to  play  master.  And  are  you  so  green, 
Sammy,  as  to  think  it  requires  no  skill  to  oversee 
the  work  of  others  ?  Look  at  our  gentlemen- 
farmers,  when  they  come  out  of  the  cities,  and 
eee  in  what  style  they  superintend  the  work. 
No,  no  !  take  an  old  man's  word  for  it,  unless 
yon  stick  to  your  last,  you  may  expect  to  go 
barefoot.  One  may  decant  liquor  from  vessel  to 
vessel  till  there  be  nothing  left.  Let  well  enough 
alone.  You  have  every  tiling  but  perseverance ; 
now  have  that.  Remember  the  epitaph,  ♦  I  was 
well — took  phj'sic — and  here  I  am.'  I  have 
often  heard  it  said,  that  three  removes  are  as 
bad  as  a  fire :  it  is  as  true  of  trades  as  of  tene- 


108  THE    AMERICAN   MECHANIC. 

ments.  Remove  an  old  tree  and  it  will  wither  td 
death.  To  make  such  a  change  is  at  best  but 
bartering  certainty  for  hope.  Your  bright  pros- 
pects may  turn  out  like  those  of  the  country- 
mouse:  you  remember  the  fable." 

The  conversation  of  the  old  man  put  me  on  a 
recollection  of  the  cases  which  have  occurred  in 
our  own  neighbourhood,  and  I  believe  uncle 
Benjamin  is  in  the  right.  I  have  seen  the  rise 
and  progress  of  some  hundreds  of  working  men. 
Where  they  have  stuck  to  their  business,  observ- 
ing economy,  and  adding  little  to  little,  they  have 
in  almost  every  case  arrived  at  comfortable  sub- 
stance. On  the  other  hand,  where  they  have 
been  restless  and  versatile,  even  though  these 
•changes  seemed  to  be  for  the  better,  they  have, 
•usually,  lost  all,  and  died  beggars.  In  this  free 
country,  mechanics  are  not  bound  down  by  legal 
restrictions  to  the  trade  which  they  have  learned, 
but  may  exchange  one  line  of  business  for  an- 
other, at  tlieir  pleasure :  and  there  are  many 
.temptations  to  do  so,  particularly  when  the  times 
are  unfavourable.  It  is  the  more  necessary,  there- 
fore, to  inculcate  the  principle  that,  as  a  general 
Jiile,  perseverance  ensures  success,  and  change 
brings  disaster.  Men  of  lively  genius  often  grow 
weary  of  the  dull  routine  of  business,  and  are 
tempted  tg  forsake  the  beaten  track  upon  new  ad' 


THE  mechanic's  CHANGE  OF  TRA.DE.    109 

ventures;  while  your  dull  plodding  fellows  are 
laying  a  foundation  for  lasting  wealth  and  useful- 
ness. Hence  the  erroneous  adage,  that  fortune  fa- 
vours fools.  Sparkling  qualities  and  elastic  enter- 
prise are  not  always  coupled  with  practical  wis- 
dom. 

Let  me  give  the  name  of  Rupert  to  a  man 
whom  I  formerly  knew.  His  case  is  that  of 
hundreds.  He  was  indented  to  a  harness-maker, 
with  whom  he  served  his  time  without  any  re- 
markable occurrence.  He  was  considered  very 
clever  in  his  trade,  and  lived  with  his  first  em- 
ployer about  a  year  as  a  journeyman.  At  the 
end  of  this  time,  he  thought  fit  to  leave  his  former 
calling,  in  order  to  open  a  shop  for  the  sale  of 
glazed  leather  caps  and  similar  articles.  Having 
little  capital  and  less  perseverance,  he  had  not 
been  more  than  a  twelvemonth  in  this  occupation, 
before  papers  were  seen  in  the  windows,  purport- 
ing that  the  stock  was  selling  off,  &c.,  and  shortly 
thereafter  the  house  was  closed.  For  several 
weeks  Rupert  walked  the  streets,  in  the  manner 
usual  with  those  who  do  nothing  because  they 
cannot  pay  their  creditors.  When  I  next  ob- 
served him,  he  was  again  labouring  as  a  journey- 
man, but  this  did  not  last  long,  as  he  soon  ap 
peared  among  us  as  the  agent  of  a  line  of  stage- 
coaches. After  acting  his  part  for  a  few  months 
10 


110  THE    AMERICAN    MECHANIC. 

in  this  vocation,  he  was  enabled  by  one  or  two 
of  his  friends  to  set  up  a  shop  for  ready-made 
clothing ;  and  we  really  thought  he  was  about  to 
manage  prosperously.  But  his  unstable  temper 
again  betrayed  him.  Just  about  this  juncture, 
certain  new  resources  were  developed  in  the 
water-power  of  our  creek,  and  several  mills  and 
manufactories  were  enterprised.  Rupert  became 
a  partner  in  a  paper-making  establishment ;  was 
once  more  embarrassed  ;  sunk  in  the  stream  ;  and 
after  a  suitable  time,  arose  upon  the  surface 
in  the  new  character  of  a  lottery-agent.  This 
gambling  employment  finally  ruined  him.  It 
brought  him  into  acquaintance  with  idlers,  sports- 
men, and  black-legs.  He  became  well  known 
upon  the  turf.  His  whole  appearance  and  dress 
were  changed,  for  it  may  be  observed  that  sport- 
ing cnaracters  strangely  choose  to  be  conspicuous. 
When  I  saw  him  last,  he  was  on  his  way  to  Long 
Island  races.  He  wore  a  white  hat,  plush 
vest,  green  broad-tailed,  single-breasted  coat,  with 
fancy  outtons,  coloured  stock  ;  and  had  a  whale- 
bone wand  in  his  hand,  a  paltry  large  ring  on  his 
finger,  and  a  would-be  cameo,  as  large  as  a  half- 
dollar,  on  the  soiled  bosom  of  his  striped  shirt. 
Every  feature  and  every  motion  indicated  uneasi- 
ness and  drink. 

How  was  this  catastrophe  to  have  been  avoided  ? 


THE  mechanic's  CHANGE  OF  TRADE.    Ill 

The  answer  is  simple :  by  sticking  to  the  shop. 
Keep  your  shop  and  your  shop  will  keep  you. 
The  patriarch  Jacob  gives  his  eldest  son  a  very 
bad  name :  "  Unstable  as  water,  thou  shalt  not 
excel."*  It  is  the  character  and  the  lot  of  many 
a  young  mechanic.  There  are  some  employ- 
ments which  seem  to  lie  open  as  snug  harbours 
for  those  who  have  failed  of  all  other  ports. 
They  are  occupations  which  are  supposed, 
whether  truly  or  falsely,  to  need  no  foregoing 
apprenticeship.  In  country  villages,  it  is  too 
common  to  imagine  that  any  man  is  fit  to  be  an 
apothecary,  though  our  very  life  may  depend  on 
a  druggist's  knowledge  of  pharmacy,  and  though 
more  than  one  has  sold  arsenic  for  magnesia. 
Most  men  have  talents  sufficient  for  vending  con- 
fectionary or  old  clothes.  Tavern-keepers  are 
seldom  such  as  have  been  bred  to  the  craft; 
though  our  best  hosts  are  certainly  those  who 
Lave  grown  up  in  the  bar.  The  same  may  be 
said  of  bar-keepers,  booking-clerks,  and  travelling 
agents.  The  hawkers,  and  other  travellers  who 
go  about  so  importunately  with  subscription-pa- 
pers, pictures,  German- silver  spoons,  or  cheap 
books,  wrapped  up  in  greasy  pocket  handker- 
chiefs, have  all  seen  other  days,  and  would  even 
now  do  better,  if  they  would  return  to  their  proper 

*  Gen.  xlix.  4. 


112  THE    AMERICAN   MECHANIC. 

calling.  The  worst  of  it  is,  this  is  the  last  thing 
they  ever  think  of  doing.  "Who  was  ever  known 
to  re-marry  a  divorced  wife  ?  The  only  safety  is 
m  dogged  perseverance.  Industry  and  time  will 
wear  away  all  the  little  disquietudes  which  prompt 
10  change. 


THE   MECHANIC   IN   CELIBACY.  113 

XX. 

THE    MECHANIC    IN    CELIBACY. 

Without  going  to  the  extreme  of  him  who 
compared  an  old  bachelor  to  the  odd  half  of  a  pair 
of  snuffers,  I  have  always  looked  upon  this 
specimen  of  human  nature  as  something  out  of  the 
way,  and  pitiable.  To  the  honour  of  mechanics, 
be  it  said,  that  they  are  more  rarely  in  celibacy 
than  men  of  other  callings.  He  who  works  hard 
for  his  living  finds  abundant  evidence  that  it  is 
not  good  for  man  to  be  alone.  Nevertheless,  we 
now  and  then  fall  in  with  a  veteran  bachelor  even 
among  this  class.  As  I  am  persuaded  that  truth 
is  more  attractive  than  fiction,  all  the  world  over, 
I  will  gratify  my  fondness  for  portrait  by  giving 
a  half-length  of  my  old  acquaintance  Lttke  Pear- 
main. 

Luke — for  I  love  to  be  particular— is  a  last- 
maker,  and  learned  his  trade  in  a  shop  in  Tooley 
street,  within  stone's  throw  of  the  old  London 
bridge ;  now,  alas  !  no  more.  He  has  room  enough 
for  a  single  man,  for  besides  a  front-shop,  back- 
room, kitchen,  and  shed,  he  has  two  good 
10* 


114  THE    AMERICAN   MECHANIC. 

chambers  and  a  garret.  Moreover,  he  owns  the 
house,  and  about  an  acre  of  land  appurtenant  to 
it.  The  reader  has  observed  the  tendency  in  all 
Benedicts  towards  punctuality,  nay  punctilio. 
They  get  a  set,  and  crystallize  in  a  rigid  form. 
Luke  is  the  most  regular  of  men.  Long  since  he 
has  ceased  to  feel  the  need  of  severe  labour,  so 
that  it  is  only  by  fits  and  starts  that  he  works  in 
his  shop ;  indeed  he  has  few  calls,  and  the 
windows  are  half  the  time  closed.  He  is  by  no 
means  an  extreme  case,  and  I  select  him  as  a  fair 
average  specimen. 

On  Sundays  he  is  one  of  the  earliest  at  church, 
whither  he  repairs  exactly  once  a  day,  and  de- 
posits in  the  proper  receptacle  exactly  one  cent. 
No  eloquence  ever  thawed  him  into  an  enlarge, 
ment  of  his  charity.  He  is  six  feet  high,  erect, 
and  spare  in  figure,  with  a  rough,  healthy  ruddi- 
ness on  his  cheeks  ;  and  as  he  has  that  sandy  hair 
which  wears  best  with  time,  he  shows  not  a  gray 
lock,  though  he  must  be  above  sixty.  In  his 
apparel  he  is  scrupulously  clean,  and  his  coarse 
ehoes  are  well  polished ;  but  the  cut  of  his  gar- 
ments is  antique.  His  carefulness  and  ease  of 
motion  are  such  that  dress  lasts  with  him  a  long 
time.  His  brown  surtout  with  metal  buttons  has 
appeared  every  Sunday  for  ten  years.  A  tailor 
not  long  since  pointed  out  to  me  a  summer  coat 


THE    MECHANIC    IN    CELIBACY.  115 

upon  Luke's  back,  as  an  article  which  he  had 
himself  made  twenty  years  ago. 

This  honest  man  i^  not  at  all  morose  or  snap- 
pish in  his  salutations  or  discourse ;  he  is  only 
particular.  Yet  living  by  one's  self  engenders 
selfishness,  and  a  man  must  have  a  warm  heart, 
if  it  is  not  congealed  by  forty  years  of  bachelor- 
hood. Luke  buys  little,  and  gives  nothing, 
though  he  sometimes  has  money  to  lend.  He 
has  few  visiters,  and  makes  no  calls,  except  at  a 
few  shops.  He  has  a  housekeeper,  with  whom 
he  sometimes  takes  a  formal  drive,  on  a  fair  after- 
noon, in  a  gig  which  looks  as  if  he  might  have 
made  it  himself,  drawn  by  a  bony  horse,  whose 
age  nobody  knows.  But  he  is  evidently  very  shy 
of  the  woman,  and  never  manifests  any  recog- 
nition of  the  existence  of  children,  unless  they 
make  undue  noise  about  his  door.  His  sitting- 
room  is  decorated  with  an  old  map  of  London, 
and  a  print  of  Westminster  Abbey ;  and  I  have 
seen  him  reading  Tristram  Shandy  with  his 
spectacles  on. 

If  any  grave  person  now  inquire  what  the 
moral  of  all  this  may  be,  I  reply,  it  is  not  a  fable 
but  a  true  description.  Yet  it  has  its  moral,  and 
this  I  shall  humbly  endeavour  to  unfold.  I 
scarcely  ever  meet  Luke  Pearmain  without  re- 


116  THE    AMERICAN   MECHAKIC. 

fleeting  on  the  advantages  of  happy  wedlock 
His  staid  and  precise  demeanour  cannot  altogether 
mask  a  certain  unsatisfied  air  which  he  always 
carries  with  him.  Luke  is  not  happy.  Natural 
dispositions  may  be  greatly  stunted  in  their  growth, 
but  cannot  be  altogether  eradicated  :  and  when  the 
social  principles  of  our  nature  are  suppressed,  it 
is  at  a  great  expense.  The  process  is  gradual, 
and  cannot  be  perceived  in  youth,  but  its  eflfects 
are  very  manifest  in  a  course  of  years.  No  man 
can  go  on  through  a  long  period,  caring  only  for 
himself,  without  having  many  of  the  generous 
and  nobler  sensibilities  of  his  nature  deadened. 
It  is  often  thought  that  a  bachelor  escapes  many 
of  the  vexations  of  life.  So  he  does ;  but  at  the 
same  time  he  loses  some  of  its  most  excellent 
lessons.  He  has  no  sick  wife,  with  whose  re- 
peated sorrows  to  condole ;  but  it  were  better  for 
him  if  he  had.  Tears  of  conjugal  sympathy  are 
blessed  in  their  softening  effects  on  the  heart.  He 
has  no  children  to  give  him  perpetual  anxiety ; 
but  if  he  had,  he  would  find  his  best  affections 
enlarged  and  clarified  by  flowing  forth  among 
beloved  objects. 

An  old  man,  without  wife  or  children,  is  like 
an  old  leafless  trunk ;  when  he  dies,  his  memorial 
is  gone  forever ;  he  has  none  to  bury  him,  or  to 


THE    MECHANIC    IN    CELIBACY.         117 

represent  him.  Look  at  Luke  Pearmain.  His 
long  evenings  are  dreary,  and  he  hastens  to  bed ; 
thus  constraining  himself  to  rise  before  cock-crow. 
What  a  different  sight  is  witnessed  next  door. 
There  is  old  John  Scudder,  quite  as  old  a  man, 
and  much  feebler,  as  well  as  poorer ;  but  ten  times 
happier.  He  has  had  many  a  buffeting  with  hard 
times,  has  lost  one  eye,  and  followed  four  chil- 
dren to  the  grave ;  but  see  him  on  a  winter's 
evening !  The  very  remembrance  of  the  scene 
does  me  good.  There  he  sits  in  his  stuffed  arm- 
chair, by  the  glowing  grate  ;  his  wife  knitting  by 
his  side  ;  his  children  around  him  at  their  books 
or  work ;  his  grandchildren  climbing  up  his  knees  ; 
or  in  the  summer  twilight,  as  he  smokes  his  pipe 
under  the  oak-tree  before  his  door,  and  chats  with 
every  old  acquaintance. 

Even  beggars  learn  that  they  fare  but  ill  at  the 
doors  of  bachelors.  Domestic  troubles  teach  us 
to  be  compassionate.  When  a  man  so  narrows 
himself  as  to  present  scarcely  any  mark  for  the 
shafts  of  adversity,  he  commonly  lessens  his  be- 
nevolence in  the  same  proportion.  Besides,  who 
can  calculate  the  effect  produced  on  the  mind, 
manners,  and  heart  of  any  man,  by  the  intercourse 
of  many  years,  with  a  gentle,  loving,  virtuous 
woman  ?    In  fine,  there  is  no  greater  token  of  the 


118  THE    AMERICAN    MECHANIC. 

prosperity  of  America,  than  the  facts — that  all 
things  around  us  conspire  to  encourage  early  wed- 
lock ; — that  among  our  yeomanry  marriages  are 
seldom  contracted  for  money  ; — and  that  we  have 
our  choice  among  thousands  of  the  loveliest  and 
purest  women  in  the  world. 


* 


THC  mechanic's  table.  119 


XXI. 

THE    mechanic's    TABLE. 

Let  me  say  a  word  about  the  mechanic's  meat 
and  drink.  Here  there  are  two  extremes  to  be 
avoided,  namely  those  o(  too  little  and  too  much 
And  first  of  the  first.  It  may  seem  strange  that 
any  man  should  need  to  be  cautioned  against  too 
meager  a  diet;  yet  such  is  really  the  case,  in 
consequence  of  the  fanatical  hoax  of  certain 
grandame  writers  on  Hygiene,  and  certain  errant 
preachers  turned  quacks.  Every  one  who  is  ac- 
quainted with  the  environs  of  London,  has  heard 
of  the  "  Horns  of  Highgate,"  which  used  to  be 
kept  at  each  of  the  nineteen  public  houses  of  that 
suburb.  There,  in  ancient  times,  the  wayfaring 
man  used  to  be  "  sworn  on  the  horns,"  that  he 
would  not  eat  brown  bread  while  he  could  get 
white,  unless  he  liked  the  brown  best ;  nor  drink 
small  beer  while  he  could  get  strong,  unless  he 
liked  the  small  the  best.  Among  the  "  old  ale 
knights  of  England,"  there  were  none  who  could 
not  safely  take  this  oath ;  but  we  have  changed 
all  this  ;  and  the  American  doctrine,  among  a  cer- 


IW  THE    AMERICAN    MECHANIC. 

tain  class,  is,  that  white  bread  is  poison,  and  flesh 
an  abomination.  Many  a  man,  whose  mouth 
waters  for  a  savoury  chop  or  steak,  is,  by  the 
stress  of  humbug,  kept  upon  a  lenten  regimen 
for  year  after  year,  living  on  bran  bread  and 
vegetables. 

The  mischief  is  greatest  among  those  who 
need  the  sustenance  of  generous  viands — work- 
ing men,  and  often  invalids,  to  whom,  in  this 
land  of  plenty,  a  kind  Providence  has  given  an 
abundant  variety  of  flesh  and  fowl.  Some  good 
people,  having  had  their  consciences  schooled 
awry,  believe  the  slaughter  of  animals  to  be  akin 
to  murder.  They  have,  in  their  reading  of  Scrip- 
ture, omitted  the  grant  made  to  Noah:  "Every 
moving  thing  that  liveth  shall  be  meat  for  you  ; 
even  as  the  green  herb  have  I  given  you  all 
things."     Gen.  ix.  3. 

The  entrance  of  one  of  these  modern  Pytha- 
gorean teachers,  to  the  kitchen  or  table  of  a  me- 
chanic, produces  the  same  eff'ects  as  the  wand  of 
a  certain  doctor  in  Sancho  Panza's  island.  Among 
pallid  young  ladies  the  system  has  great  vogue  ; 
as  also  with  dyspeptical  matrons,  and  hypochon- 
driacs of  all  classes.  The  converts  profess  to 
return  to  natural  food,  and  eschew  all  artificial 
preparations.  Swift  must  have  had  them  in  his 
eye  when  he  said  of  a  former  race  of  herb-eaters, 


THE    mechanic's    TABLE.  121 

*'  I  am  told  many  of  them  are  now  thinking  of 
turning  their  children  into  woods  to  graze  with 
the  cattle,  in  hopes  to  raise  a  healthy  and  moral 
race,  refined  from  the  corruptions  of  this  luxu- 
rious world." 

In  seriousness,  let  me  dissuade  every  man  who 
values  his  health,  from  trying  experiments  on  so 
delicate  a  subject  as  the  human  constitution.  The 
experience  of  many  centuries  has  sufficiently 
evinced  the  fitness  of  a  temperate  animal  diet  to 
preserve  our  powers  in  good  order.  Many  gene- 
rations of  sound  and  stalwart  meat-eaters  have 
lived  to  a  good  old  age.  The  learned  physi- 
ologist. Dr.  Pritchard,  has  shown  by  numerous 
examples,  that  the  nations  which  subsist  wholly 
on  vegetable  food,  cannot  compare  in  robust 
health  and  muscular  strength  with  the  rest  of 
mankind ;  and  any  one  who  has  seen  a  tribe  of 
the  South  Western  Indians,  who  live  exclusively 
on  flesh,  will  find  it  hard  to  believe  that  it  is  a 
deleterious  article  of  food.  I  plead  only  for  a 
judicious  mixture,  and  against  the  senseless 
clamours  of  charlatan  lecturers. 

It  merits  the  particular  consideration  of  work- 
ing men,  that  in  the  statistical  reports  rendered 
to  the  Parliament  of  Great  Britain  from  the  manu- 
facturing districts,  the  want  of  proper  animal 
food  is  mentioned  as  a  chief  source  of  infantile 
11 


122  THE    AMERICAN   MECHANIC. 

disease,  scrofula,  and  premature  decrepitude.  Nf 
work  on  philosophy,  as  connected  with  diet, 
has  received  a  more  deserved  popularity  than 
Dr.  Combe's  treatise  on  "  Digestion  and  Diete 
tics."  This  able  physician  and  sound  philoso- 
pher writes  thus  :  "As  a  general  rule,  animal 
food  is  more  easily  and  speedily  digested,  and 
contains  a  greater  quantity  of  nutriment  in  a 
given  bulk,  than  either  herbaceous  or  farinaceous 
food."  And  again  he  says  of  vegetable  sub- 
stances :  "  to  a  person  undergoing  hard  labour, 
ihey  afford  inadequate  support."  He  also  main- 
tains, with  our  countryman  Dr.  Beaumont,  that 
the  reason  of  this  is  to  be  sought  in  the  "  adap- 
tation of  animal  food  to  the  properties  of  the 
gastric  juice  provided  by  nature  for  its  solution." 
But  I  am  beginning  to  talk  too  much  like  a 
doctor. 

The  wise  mechanic  will  be  careful  to  provide 
for  his  family  and  workmen  a  sufficiency  of  such 
food  as  is  in  season,  provided  the  experience  of 
the  country  declare  it  to  be  wholesome  ;  without 
joining  in  a  crusade  against  any  accredited  article 
of  diet.  Providence  has  given  to  us,  in  great 
profusion,  both  the  fruits  of  the  earth  and  the 
beasts  of  the  field  ;  let  us  make  a  temperate  use 
of  these  bounties.  I  would  banish  from  the 
table  the  intoxicating  glass,  but  at  the  same  time 


THE    mechanic's    TABLE.  123 

would  welcome  the  rich  variety  of  good  things 
which  adorn  our  American  market. 

I  am  now  ready  to  pass  to  the  other  extreme, 
namely,  that  of  too  much.  This,  it  will  be 
readily  acknowledged,  is  by  far  the  more  com- 
mon. As  it  regards  animal  food,  there  is  surely 
a  golden  mean  between  eating  too  much  and  eat- 
ing none  at  all.  There  is  no  civilized  nation 
which  devours  more  flesh  than  our  own.  While 
the  peasantry  of  Europe  have  meat  on  their  ta- 
bles, in  some  countries  about  once  a  month,  in 
others  about  once  a  week,  the  labourers  of  the 
United  States  indulge  in  animal  food  every  day, 
and  often  at  every  meal.  This  is  greatly  over- 
doing the  matter ;  and  the  stimulating  effects  of 
such  excess  is  witnessed  in  the  inflammatory  and 
febrile  disorders  which  prevail. — Besides,  it  is 
common  for  men  who  work  hard  to  eat  by  far  too 
much  of  what  is  set  before  them. 

"  Intemperate  eating,"  says  Professor  Cald- 
well, "  is  perhaps  the  most  universal  fault  we 
commit.  We  are  guilty  of  it,  not  occasionally, 
but  habitually,  and  almost  uniformly,  from  the 
cradle  to  the  grave.  For  every  reeling  drunkard 
that  disgraces  our  country,  it  contains  one  hun- 
dred gluttons — persons,  I  mean,  who  eat  to 
excess,  and  suffer  by  the  practice.  Like  the  ox 
in  rich  pasture-ground,  or  the  swine  at  his  swill- 


124  THE    AMERICAN    MECHANIC. 

trough,  men  stow  away  their  viands  until  they 
have  neither  desire  nor  room  for  any  more." 
This  gorging  of  the  stomach  probably  slays  as 
many  as  strong  drink.  And  this  eating  too  much 
arises,  in  great  measure,  from  a  practice  which 
is  unfortunately  a  disgrace  to  our  whole  nation,  I 
mean  eating  too  fast.  This  prevents  necessary 
mastication,  and  of  course  healthful  digestion.  It 
carries  the  eater  far  beyond  the  point  at  which 
the  natural  appetite  cries,  Enough.  It  renders 
the  cheerful  meal  a  rapid  and  almost  brutal  feed- 
ing. "  Nowhere,"  says  Dr.  Combe,  "  does 
man  hurry  off  to  business  so  immediately  as  in 
the  United  States  of  America,  and  nowhere  does 
he  bolt  his  food  so  much,  as  if  running  a  race 
against  time.  The  consequence  is,  that  nowhere 
do  intemperate  eating  and  dyspepsia  prevail  to 
the  same  enormous  amount."  Even  the  philo- 
sophy of  epicurism  might  teach  us,  that  we  alto- 
gether miss  the  exquisite  savour  of  morsels  which 
are  swallowed  in  such  inordinate  haste. 

When  the  mechanic  comes  in  to  his  meals,  he 
should  regard  the  hour  as  devoted,  not  merely  to 
being/crf,  but  to  gentle  repose  after  labour,  social 
relaxation,  and  deliberate  intercourse  with  his 
family.  How  different  the  scene,  when  a  gang 
of  men  and  boys,  at  the  sound  of  bell  or  horn, 
rush  into  the  eating-room ;  seize  upon  the  nearest 


THE    MECHANIC  S    TABLE.  125 

dishes  with  ravenous  violence ;  hurry  through 
their  intemperate  repast  with  the  silence  and 
ferocity  of  beasts ;  while  each,  as  soon  as  he  has 
stayed  the  rage  of  hunger,  dashes  out  of  the 
apartment,  unrefreshed  and  overloaded. 

To  the  mechanic's  wife  belongs  the  task  of 
spreading  the  frugal  meal  in  cleanliness  and 
order.  Much  of  the  comfort  of  home  depends 
on  these  minor  arrangements ;  nay  much  of  the 
husband's  attachment  to  his  own  fireside  has  this 
source.  The  white  and  well-laid  cloth,  the 
bright  knives  and  other  implements,  the  scrupu- 
lous neatness  of  every  dish,  and  the  delicate 
grace  of  tidy  arrangement,  when  coupled  with 
smiles  and  good  humour,  can  give  a  charm  even 
to  "  a  dinner  of  herbs."  But  as  I  look  into  the 
dining-rooms  of  my  neighbours,  I  sometimes  see 
another  sight ;  the  table  thrust  against  the  wall ; 
the  cloth  rent,  and  stained,  and  scanty,  and  ill- 
spread  ;  the  knives  mottled  with  rust ;  the  dishes 
huddled  together;  and  all  that  is  to  be  eaten 
heaped  up  at  one  view.  To  the  mechanic's  wife, 
I  would  say,  "  Pray  you  avoid  it." 
11* 


126  THE    AMERICAN   MECHANIC. 

XXII. 

THE    mechanic's    MUSICAL    RECREATIONS. 

It  can  scarcely  be  denied  that  we  are  not  a 
musical  nation.  We  have  no  popular  ballads ; 
and  what  we  call  our  National  air  is  a  burlesque, 
and  always  sung  to  ludicrous  words.  Listen  to 
the  snatches  of  songs  which  resound  in  the  streets, 
and  you  will  find  them  to  be,  in  nine  cases  out  of 
ten,  not  traditional  lays,  rich  in  ancient  associa- 
tions, but  fragments  of  the  last  play-house  airs, 
and  for  the  most  part  senseless  buffooneries,  such 
as  "  Billy  Barlow,"  "  Jim  Crow,"  or  "  Settin' 
on  a  Rail." 

Yet  I  do  not  despair,  having  strong  faith  in  the 
possibility  of  reforming  even  National  tastes. 
There  is  a  taste  for  music  in  our  people ;  and 
here  we  have  a  foundation  for  our  structure.  In 
half  our  shops  there  is  some  musical  instrument; 
and  even  though  nothing  but  horrid  discord  is  ex- 
tracted from  the  ill-tuned  fiddle  or  cracked  flute, 
the  very  attempt  shows  the  existence  of  a  natural 
desire  for  the  pleasures  of  melody.    If  our  me- 


MUSICAL    RECREATIONS.  127 

chanics  would  only  go  about  the  work  in  the  right 
way,  they  might  soon  arrive  at  exquisite  enjoy- 
ment. Two  errors  are  to  be  avoided  ;  first,  the 
supposition  that  music  is  a  luxury  beyond  the 
reach  of  busy  men ;  secondly,  that  proficiency 
may  be  attained  without  any  instruction.  There 
is  so  much  musical  capacity  in  our  population, 
that  in  every  village  there  might  be,  within  a 
twelvemonth,  a  respectable  band  or  orchestra. 
Where  the  experiment  has  been  tried,  this  has 
been  abundantly  evinced.  Several  of  tlie  best 
bands  in  our  cities  are  at  this  very  moment  com- 
posed of  young  working-men.  But  then  let  it  be 
carefully  observed,  that  musical  skill  does  not 
come  by  inspiration.  It  is  the  fruit  of  labour,  and 
of  labour  directed  by  some  competent  instructer. 
There  lives  very  near  to  my  abode  a  young 
apprentice,  who  has  for  about  a  year  been  play- 
ing, or  rather  working,  on  a  violin.  The  youth 
is  clever  enough  to  learn,  and  his  instrument  is 
decent ;  but  I  am  persuaded  that,  in  the  way 
which  he  now  pursues,  he  may  perform  for  ten 
years  without  ever  being  able  to  execute  a  tune. 
His  instrument  is  never  in  tune,  and  as  he  system- 
atically scrapes  upon  two  discordant  strings  at  the 
same  time,  the  constant  effect  is  not  unlike  the 
filing  of  a  saw.     He  has  begun  at  the  wrong  end ; 


128  THE    AMERICAN    MECHANIC. 

for  I  am  persuaded  that  in  two  weeks  I  could  put 
him  in  the  way  of  becoming  a  very  tolerable  per- 
former. In  this,  as  in  other  things,  some  prelim- 
inary instruction  is  necessary ;  and  in  music, 
more  than  in  most  pursuits,  the  first  blow  is  half 
the  battle.  If  five  or  six  young  men  would  ap- 
point an  hour,  bring  their  instruments,  and  for  a 
few  months  play  together  under  an  experienced 
leader,  they  would  be  enabled  to  proceed  even  to 
the  intricacies  of  the  art,  and  would  secure  to 
tnemselves  a  satisfaction,  of  which  they  can  now 
scarcely  form  a  conception. 

In  Germany,  music  is  taught  in  the  schools  as 
an  indispensable  part  of  common  education.  The 
reading  of  musical  notation  is  learned  even  in  the 
snow-covered  huts  of  Iceland.  In  traversing  the 
continent  of  Europe,  the  traveller  finds  at  most  of 
the  hotels,  bands  of  musicians  from  the  neigh- 
bourhood, who  play  while  he  is  at  his  meals. 
Every  festival,  whether  national  or  religious,  is 
graced  with  music.  Serenades,  from  the  same 
class  of  persons,  are  heard  every  night  in  the 
streets.  Music  echoes  from  shops  and  boats  and 
harvest  fields.  Some  of  the  best  performances  of 
Mozart's  difficult  pieces  are  said  to  proceed  from 
the  privates  of  Prussian  regiments.  It  may  be 
stated,  as  a  general  fact,  that  every  house  in  Ger- 


MUSICAL    RECREATIONS.  129 

many  and  Switzerland  has  some  musical  instru- 
ment. In  the  vicinity  of  Geneva,  a  friend  of  the 
people  succeeded  in  exciting  such  a  zeal  for  na- 
tional music,  that  I  have  known  two  thousand 
persons  to  be  collected  for  the  mere  purpose  of 
practising  patriotic  songs.  It  is  scarcely  needful 
to  speak  of  Italy,  or  of  the  gondoliers  of  Venice. 
The  street-music  of  that  country  might  compare 
with  our  best  performances  here.  Dr.  Burney, 
a  fastidious  judge,  speaks  of  having  heard  master- 
ly execution  in  the  streets  of  Brescia,  from  a  com- 
pany of  the  inhabitants  ;  and  he  names  the  instru- 
ments, which  were  two  violins,  a  mandoline,  a 
French  horn,  a  trumpet,  and  a  violoncello. 

I  once  stopped  at  a  German  settlement  of  no 
great  size,  where  I  was  invited  to  hear  some  music 
at  the  house  of  a  mechanic.  Here  a  small  com- 
pany performed,  vocally  and  instrumentally,  al- 
most the  whole  of  Haydn's  Creation.  The 
master  of  the  house,  a  blacksmith,  more  than 
sixty  years  old,  took  the  first  violin.  His  aged 
wife,  in  spectacles,  gave  us  a  vocal  part.  The 
eldest  son,  a  joiner  from  a  neighbouring  village, 
sat  down  at  a  Leipsick  piano-forte,  on  which, 
after  having  tuned  it,  he  then  executed  with  great 
skill  the  whole  accompaniment.  Several  young 
men  and  women  filled  the  remainder  of  the  score. 


130  THE    AMERICAN   MECHANIC. 

A  boy,  five  years  of  age,  was  pointed  out  to  me, 
as  beginning  to  play  on  the  violin.  Upon  inquiry, 
I  found  that  there  was  not  a  house  in  the  town 
'  without  a  piano-forte,  or  some  keyed  instrument. 
The  recollection  of  this  evening's  entertainment 
has  often  occurred  to  me  as  illustrating  the  happy 
influence  of  music  upon  domestic  life  and  social 
habits.  If  you  would  have  your  young  people  ta 
love  home,  induce  them  to  cultivate  music.  It 
will  beguile  many  a  winter  night,  which  might 
otherwise  be  spent  in  far  different  and  more  ques- 
tionable pursuits. 

I  would  seriously  recommend  to  such  young 
working-men  as  have  any  fondness  for  music, 
to  look  a  little  into  the  state  of  this  matter  among 
our  more  respectable  German  emigrants,  or  in  the 
Moravian  settlements  in  Pennsylvania.  That 
which,  among  us,  is  a  luxury  imperfectly  enjoyed 
by  the  rich,  is  among  them  the  free  inheritance 
of  the  yeomanry.  There  are  few  pleasures 
cheaper,  more  innocent,  or  nearer  home.  The 
best  instrumental  music  in  our  great  towns  is  pro- 
duced by  the  aid  of  foreigners.  I  have  scarcely 
ever  listened  to  more  entrancing  harmony  than 
that  afforded,  not  long  since,  in  our  village,  by  a 
strolling  band  of  eight  very  common-looking 
Germans.     A  few  years  ago  a  party  of  emigrants 


MUSICAL    RECREATIONS.  131 

encamped  for  the  night  upon  an  eminence  aoout 
half  a  mile  from  my  residence.  About  dusk,  we 
were  surprised  by  the  most  delightful  sounds 
wafted  across  the  valley  from  these  humble  so- 
journers. It  appeared  to  be  their  evening  hymn, 
accompanied  by  horns.  The  effect  was  inde- 
scribable. 

The  drift  of  all  these  remarks  is  to  induce  me- 
chanics to  cultivate  music.  I  would,  however, 
go  a  step  further,  and  say,  that  the  subject  is  one 
of  so  much  importance  in  a  national  and  moral 
point  of  view,  that  public-spirited  men  should 
attempt  some  concerted  action  for  the  encourage- 
ment of  latent  genius  among  the  people.  In 
Paris  there  was  instituted,  several  years  ago,  a 
company  of  instrumental  performers,  wholly  from 
men  in  mechanical  employments,  numbering 
more  than  a  thousand.  When  I  last  heard  of 
them,  prizes  were  about  to  be  distributed  to  the 
greatest  proficients.  Without  aiming  at  any 
thing  gigantic  or  chimerical,  we  may  still  do 
something  in  furtherance  of  this  object.  For  ex- 
ample, in  our  own  town  and  village,  we  may  take 
pains  to  gather  the  scattered  talent  already  exist- 
ing, thus  forming  an  association  of  such  as  have 
some  measure  of  skill.  These  persons  may  be 
placed  under  the  direction  of  the  most  advanced 


13J9  the    AMERICAN    MECHANIC. 

musician  among  them,  and  may  have  stated  meet- 
ings for  practice.  I  have  seen  wonders  wrought 
in  this  way.  It  is  scarcely  to  be  believed,  before 
trial,  how  rapid  is  the  progress  of  a  company, 
as  compared  with  that  of  a  solitary  player.  And 
there  is  so  great  a  charm  in  orchestral  music, 
even  though  the  performers  do  not  exceed  ten  or 
a  dozen,  that  little  more  will  ever  be  needed  than 
a  beginning.  Further,  something  may  be  done 
to  reduce  the  price  of  instruction  in  instrumental 
music.  So  long  as  it  comes  to  us  with  the  tax 
of  a  luxury,  it  cannot  diffuse  itself.  This  end 
would  soon  be  gained,  if  we  should  open  the  door 
to  some  of  our  worthy  German  musicians.  A 
class  of  fifteen  or  twenty,  at  a  low  rate,  might 
support  some  honest  foreigner  who  is  now  starv- 
ing. But  the  greatest  reform  is  needed  in  private 
families.  Parents  and  employers  might  accom- 
plish the  work,  if  they  chose.  But  the  truth  is, 
they  set  no  proper  value  on  music,  either  as  a 
pleasure,  or  a  moral  instrument.  Their  boy  may 
whistle,  or  sing,  or  drum,  or  twang  the  jew's-harp, 
if  he  choose ;  but  it  no  more  enters  their  heads 
that  music  is  a  thing  demanding  any  countenance 
or  supervision,  than  that  they  should  regulate  the 
matter  of  hoop  and  ball.  I  am  very  sure  that  if 
1  could  duly  represent  to  the  apprentice  who 


MUSICAL   RECREATIONS.  133 

reads  these  lines,  how  much  refined  and  con- 
stantly increasing  satisfaction  he  might  derive, 
without  any  expense,  from  the  cultivation  of  this 
art,  he  would  not  rest  until  he  had  advised  with 
a  teacher,  bought  an  instrument,  and  deliberately 
entered  his  name  as  a  musical  scholar. 


;134  TBE    AMERICAN   MECHANIC. 

XXIII. 

THE    mechanic's    CLUBS. 

In  a  free  country,  the  tendency  to  association 
for  mutual  benefit  is  very  strong.  Hence  the 
great  number  of  societies,  clubs,  unions,  and 
other  fraternities,  for  intellectual  improvement, 
for  political  discussion,  for  defence,  or  for  relief 
in  sickness.  The  fascination  of  such  alliances  is 
so  great,  that  young  mechanics  are  often  drawn 
in,  before  they  are  aware,  to  connexions,  mea- 
sures, and  expenses,  at  once  unjustifiable  and 
ruinous.  In  times  of  pressure,  ignorance  is  sure 
to  impute  every  calamity  to  the  designs  of  malig- 
nant persons — sometimes  the  government,  some- 
times corporations,  sometimes  capitalists  and  em- 
ployers. It  is  thus  that  the  cholera,  in  various 
unenlightened  countries,  has  been  ascribed  to 
the  arts  of  enemies.  Under  embarrassments  and 
want,  the  sufferers  cling  together,  and  combine  in 
associations  for  mutual  defence ;  and  in  some 
cases  these  combinations  remain  long  after  their 
original  work  has  been  done.     We  have  become 


THE   mechanic's    CLUBS.  135 

too  familiar  with  "trades'  unions"  and  "strikes" 
to  need  any  special  explanations.  These  asso 
ciations,  in  the  long  run,  fail  of  their  professed 
aim ;  partly  by  encouraging  conviviality,  and 
withdrawing  great  numbers  of  men  from  regular 
work  ;  partly  from  the  fact,  that  employers,  being 
few  in  number,  can  act  in  better  concert,  and  being 
possessed  of  some  capital,  can  stand  out  in  resist- 
ance longer  than  the  other  party.  From  a  careful 
observation  of  the  way  in  which  this  thing  works, 
I  am  inclined  to  advise  every  young  mechanic  to 
hold  himself  aloof  from  all  entangling  alliances 
of  the  kind. 

Not  long  since,  I  met  with  the  wife  of  a  me- 
ehanic  whom  I  had  formerly  known.  Observing; 
hex  to  be  in  great  want  and  distress,  I  inquired 
into  the  causes ;  upon  which  she  gave  me,  in, 
substance,  the  following  history. 

"  My  husband  (John  Glenn)  worked  in  *  *  *, 
at  the  hatting  business,  in  the  employ  of  a  Mr. 
Jones.  He  gave  such  satisfaction,  that  Jones  put 
hira  into  a  decent  house  which  he  owned,  allow- 
ing him  a  number  of  years  to  pay  for  it,  and  thus 
securing  the  continuance  of  his  services.  Thia 
suited  both  parties,  and  we  were  very  happy  im 
our  little  dwelling,  until  the  hard  times  came.  At 
this  time  we  had  more  than  half  paid  for  ttra 


136  THE    AMERICAN    MECHANIC. 

bouse,  and  had  a  nice  garden  with  abundance  of 
fruit.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Jones  were  very  kind,  and 
I  really  felt  as  if  we  were  fixed  for  life.  John 
seemed  to  get  along  comfortably  enough,  though 
we  certainly  had  to  use  great  economy  ;  but  at 
length  his  acquaintances  began  to  put  other  no- 
tions into  his  head.  They  were  determined  to 
have  higher  wages,  and  declared  that  John  should 
unite  with  them  in  their  Union.  He  was  as  de- 
sirous as  any  one  for  higher  wages,  but  then  he 
had  been  well  treated  by  his  employer,  and  was 
in  his  debt,  and  therefore  felt  that  it  was  against 
his  real  interest  to  join  with  them.  He  held  out 
a  long  time,  and  was  one  of  nine  or  ten  who  con- 
tinued at  the  manufactory  after  all  the  others  had 
struck  for  higher  wages.  But  they  ridiculed  and 
even  persecuted  him.  There  was  scarcely  any 
shameful  name  which  they  did  not  call  him. 
They  used  to  come  in  by  dozens,  and  laugh  at 
him,  saying  that  he  was  a  coward,  a  sneak,  and 
a  deserter,  Mr.  Jones's  man  Friday,  and  his 
*  last  apprentice.'  In  fact,  they  goaded  him  so 
much,  that  at  last  he  threw  up  the  game,  and 
united  in  their  combination.  I  was  always  against 
this ;  but,  in  such  matters,  a  woman's  advice  goes 
for  very  litde.  Often,  I  assure  you,  I  have  shed 
tears  to  see  him  parading  through  the  streets  with 


THE   mechanic's    CLUBS.  137 

their  procession  and  flags,  or  paying  money  to 
their  union,  when  I  knew  that  we  had  not  a  whole 
loaf  for  our  dear  little  children.  And  then  he 
used  to  come  home  at  nights  from  their  meetings, 
not  exactly  drunk,  but  in  a  state  of  excitement 
which  was  very  new  to  him. 

"  Matters  grew  worse  and  worse,  and  we  were 
brought  nearer  to  absolute  beggary  than  I  had 
ever  been  in  my  life.  After  a  while  we  began  to 
see  that  we  had  been  too  hasty  in  condemning 
our  employers  ;  for  we  observed  that  they  were 
as  little  able  to  help  themselves  as  we  had  been 
ourselves.  Mr.  Jones  was  obliged  to  shut  up  his 
large  factory  ;  and,  as  for  us,  we  were  on  the 
brink  of  starvation.  Our  hearts  were  too  full 
for  much  talk ;  and  we  spent  many  a  sad  day 
without  saying  a  word  to  one  another  about  our 
affairs.  At  length  John  declared  that  this  could 
last  no  longer,  but  that  he  must  look  for  work 
somewhere  else.  We  sold  part  of  our  little  fur- 
niture, and  went  to  Philadelphia.  Here  we  had 
so  little  encouragement,  and  lived  so  poorly,  that 
one  of  our  children  died,  and  John  was  taken 
down  with  a  fever,  which  lasted  nine  weeks. 
When  he  recovered,  he  told  me  that  all  hope  of 
getting  a  support  in  this  part  of  the  world  was  at 
an  end.  He  is  now  on  his  way  to  Cincinnati,  to 
12* 


138  THE   AMERICAN    MECHANIC. 

seek  employment,  and  I  am  returning  with  our 
two  remaining  children  to  *  *  *,  to  see  whether 
I  can  keep  them  alive  among  our  former  friend* 
by  taking  in  washing." 

I  am  persuaded  that  this  is  the  unvarnished 
history  of  many  a  mechanic's  family,  during  the 
last  year ;  and,  also,  that  in  many  cases  the  evil 
has  been  greatly  aggravated  by  rash  connexion, 
with  clubs  and  combinations.  The  temptation 
to  drink,  to  which  this  good  woman  alluded,  is 
very  common  in  most  of  these  associations. 
When  men  without  employment,  and  under 
strong  passion,  meet  together  in  large  numbers, 
they  seldom  fail  to  indulge  in  the  use  of  liquor ; 
and  here  it  is  that  some  lay  the  foundation  of  in- 
temperate habits  for  life.  Idleness,  the  parent  of 
all  vice,  is  inseparable  from  such  connexions ; 
arid  the  whole  system  tends  directly  to  produce 
irregularity  of  life  and  sullen  discontent. 

There  are  clubs  and  societies  of  other  kinds, 
which  might  be  mentioned  as  pertaining  to  the 
life  of  mechanics.  Debating  societies  are  popular 
in  some  parts  of  the  country.  They  have  a 
cha/m  for  young  men  of  active  minds,  because 
they  cultivate  the  social  feelings,  yield  a  sort  of 
intellectual  pleasure,  and  give  opportunity  for 
the  excitements  of  public  speaking.     Such  clubs 


THE    mechanic's   CLUBS.  139 

might  be  turned  to  good  account ;  but  in  practice 
they  are  often  found  to  be  deleterious.  As  they 
frequently  meet  at  taverns,  the  transition  is  too 
easy  from  the  debate  to  the  bar.  The  subjects 
discussed  are  apt  to  be  those  of  party  politics ; 
and  these  are  treated  in  most  instances  with 
asperity  and  heat.  The  leading  members  of 
these  societies,  not  content  with  exercising  the 
rights  of  freemen,  are  prone  to  fall  into  the  cur- 
rent of  factious  turbulence,  to  the  neglect  of  their 
proper  business.  You  will  seldom  find  a  noted 
politician  among  working  men  who  is  not  ua- 
thrifty  in  his  trade. 

It  is  pleasing  to  observe,  however,  that  there 
is  still  another  description  of  club  or  society,  of 
which  the  influence  is  purely  beneficial.  I  refer 
to  those  associations  which  have  for  their  object 
the  mental  improvement  of  their  members  ia 
knowledge  and  morals.  There  are  many  such 
connected  with  the  town  and  village  Lyceums  of 
our  country.  Where  these  are  conducted  in  aa 
orderly  way,  and  especially  where  they  are  con- 
nected with  lectures,  experiments,  libraries,  and 
reading-rooms,  they  cannot  be  too  strongly  re- 
commended. It  is  to  be  wished  that  every 
young  mechanic  should  be  a  member  of  some 
such  institution.     Their  influence  upon  friendly 


140  THE    AMERICAN    MECHANIC. 

feeling  is  very  benign.  They  afford  a  delight- 
ful recreation  after  the  labour  and  tedium  of 
the  day.  They  draw  their  members  away  from 
the  temptations  of  the  tavern,  the  dance,  and 
the  circus ;  and  they  enrich  the  mind  with  the 
best  of  all  worldly  wealth,  true  knowledge.  Yet 
even  here  I  would  be  jealous  of  every  thing 
which  encroaches  on  the  sanctity  of  the  domestic 
circle,  or  breaks  the  flow  of  neighbourly  fellow- 
ship. These  associations  become  evil  so  soon  as 
they  keep  any  man  perpetually  away  from  his 
wife  and  children,  or  preclude  the  kindly  inter- 
change of  visits  between  friend  and  friend.  On 
this  topic  I  must  be  allowed  to  repeat  what  I  have 
said  elsewhere,  that  the  tendency  of  the  age  is 
adverse  to  the  genial  glow  of  old-fashioned  social 
intercourse.  In  former  days,  neighbours  spent  a 
large  part  of  their  evenings  in  mingling  with  one 
another,  and  these  pleasant,  homely  visits,  ce- 
mented alliances  which  endured  as  long  as  life, 
and  friendships  which  descended  from  father  to 
son.  There  were  lovely  winter-evenings,  "  when 
this  auld  cap  was  new."  But  now,  the  chief  as- 
semblages of  our  young  men  are  in  the  club,  the 
bar-room,  or  the  streets.  If  no  other  evil  re- 
sulted, the  necessary  consequence  is,  that  during 
all  the  time  thus  spent,  they  are  debarred  from 


THE    mechanic's    CLUBS.  141 

the  humanizing  influence  of  woman.  I  am  ready 
to  maintain  that  a  society  without  female  com- 
munion tends  to  barbarism.  In  a  word,  let  us  so 
regulate  our  associations  that  they  may  not  in- 
vade the  sacred  intercourse  of  domestic  and 
social  life. 


Um  TKE   AMERICAN   MECHAI71C. 

XXIV 

THE    MECHANIC    ABOVE    HIS    BUSINESSi 

"  I  HAVE  often  heard,"  said  Uncle  Benjamin 
"  that  puss  in  gloves  catches  no  mice.  And  this 
has  been  very  much  in  my  mind  lately,  when  1 
have  observed  how  great  is  the  ambition  of  our 
young  sparks  to  be  thought  gentlemen." 

"  Surely,  father,"  said  Sammy,  "  you  have  no 
objection  to  a  man's  dressing  himself  decently  ?" 

"  Not  at  all,  Sammy  ;  a  man  may  be  as  decent, 
tidy,  and  even  elegant  as  you  please  ;  but  all  in 
its  proper  place.  I  often  hear  people  asking  why 
Sunderland,  which  is  one  of  our  oldest  villages, 
thrives  so  little ;  and  I  always  answer,  because 
the  master-workmen  are  never  in  their  shirt- 
sleeves. You  may  see  them  at  their  shop-doors 
in  Sunday  trim  before  they  have  got  their  third 
apprentice." 

"  Then,  father,  you  would  have  a  man  always 
in  his  apron." 

"  Not  at  all,  Sammy,  I  say  again.  When  I 
was  a  lad,  we  made  ourselves  smart  every  even- 
ing ;  on  Saturday  nights  we  took  a  little  foretaste 


THE  MECHANIC  ABOVE  HIS  BUSINESS.     143 

of  Sunday ;  and  when  Sunday  came,  every  man 
was  rigged  out  in  his  best;  and  a  very  pretty 
sight  it  was,  I  assure  ye,  to  see  an  old-time  beau — 
his  hair  in  powder,  prettily  clubbed — plated  stock- 
buckle — ditto  for  knees  and  shoes — small-clothes 
and  white  stockings — and  posy  in  the  bosom. 

"  But  then  we  earned  it  fairly  by  hard  knocks. 
In  working-hours  there  was  no  play  ;  and  no  man 
was  ashamed  of  labour.  But  now-a-days  there 
.is  a  great  rage  for  being  over-genteel.  I  often 
spy  a  rich  waistcoat  and  gold  chain  under  a 
butcher's  frock,  and  see  young  mechanics  twid- 
dling their  ratans  in  the  street,  when  they  ought 
to  have  their  coats  off." 

"  But  you  will  allow  that  a  man  may  do  a  good 
stroke  of  work  with  a  clean  shirt  and  decent 
vest  ?" 

*'  Very  good !  perhaps  he  may  in  some  sorts 
of  business.  Let  every  man  be  as  neat  as  his 
work  will  allow  ;  but  a  collier  will  have  a  black 
face,  and  he  is  a  poor  carpenter  who  makes  no 
chips.  But  I  am  thinking  of  more  than  mere 
dress.  Too  many  of  our  working-men  are 
ashamed  of  that  which  is  their  honour,  namely, 
their  trade.  When  they  appear  in  Broadway, 
they  wear  gloves,  and  ape  the  coxcombs  who 
never  do  any  thing." 

"  Father,  father,"  said  Sammy,  "  I  am  afraid 


tJift      '■■        THE    AMERICAN   MECHANIC. 

vou  would  have  mechanics  reduced  to  an  inferior 
caste,  who  must  never  rise,  but  forever  look  up 
to  the  richer  folks  as  the  lords  of  creation." 

"  There  you  mistake  me  greatly,  Sammy.  I 
am  an  old  mechanic.  Many  a  long  year  have  I 
wrought  at  a  laborious  employment.  I  am  for 
giving  every  man  a  chance  to  rise.  I  honour  an 
industrious  working-man.  I  think  nothing  more 
honourable  than  honest  labour ;  and  because  I 
think  so,  I  don't  like  to  see  a  man  ashamed  of  it. 
Let  me  tell  you  a  story. 

"  About  a  year  ago,  I  was  returning  in  the 
stagecoach  from  Philadelphia,  where  I  had  been 
to  see  your  uncle  Isaac.  Next  to  me  sat  a  young 
man,  who  did  not  recognise  me,  but  whom  I  at 
once  knew  to  be  a  shoemaker  in  Second  street. 
He  took  his  seat  with  an  air,  and  looked  the 
gentleman.  Every  thing  was  fine  ;  kid  gloves  ; 
spectacles  ;  watch  in  a  little  pocket  almost  under 
his  arm  ;  underclothes  with  a  perpendicular  aper- 
ture ;  white  sole-straps  ;  gold-headed  switch.  I 
perceived  that  his  plan  was  to  '  sink  the  shop.' 
Poor  fellow  !  I  wished  to  teach  him  a  lesson,  be- 
cause I  had  known  his  father ;  so  I  gave  him  line 
for  a  while,  and  sat  mum,  while  he  talked  largely 
of  what  the  Philadelphians  consider  the  property 
of  each  and  every  citizen — Fair  Mount — Laurel 
Hill — Girard  College — the  new  gas-lights — the 


THE  MECHANIC  ABOVE  HIS  BUSINESS.    145 

big  ship.  Not  a  word  about  trade,  but  much  of 
*  Councils,'  election,  politics,  the  Great  Western, 
and  the  theatre.  As  the  company  was  very  com- 
plaisant, he  grew  more  easy,  and  at  length  usurped 
most  of  the  conversation.  At  a  good  pause,  I 
ventured  to  put  in  my  oar,  and  asked,  '  Can  you 
tell  me,  sir,  how  Spanish  hides  have  been  sell- 
ing ?'  He  looked  at  me  hard,  and  said,  '  Not  ex- 
acdy,  sir ;'  and  hastened  to  talk  of  something 
else.  *  Pray,'  said  I,  '  do  you  know  whether  this 
business  of  importing  Paris  shoes  has  turned  out 

well  for  the  's  in  Walnut  street?'     He 

coloured  a  little,  pulled  up  the  angles  of  his  collar, 
and  said,  '  Not  being  in  that  line,  sir,  you  must 
excuse  me  for  not  knowing.'  He  was  uneasy, 
but  not  quite  convinced  that  he  was  found  out, 
and  went  on  talking  quite  largely  about  the  ship- 
ping business.  I  thought  I  could  come  a  little 
nearer  home  by  another  inquiry,  so  I  said  gaily, 
'  Allow  me  to  ask  you  whether  good  old  Mr. 
Smack  sticks  to  the  last  ?  I  remember  the  day 
when  he  could  finish  his  pair  of  boots  with  any 
man  in  Jersey.'  This  was  wormwood  ;  for  he 
knew  in  his  heart  that  Mr.  Smack  was  his  own 
father  ;  yet  as  he  was  not  even  yet  quite  sure  that 
I  was  apprized  of  the  connexion,  he  replied  with 
some  confidence,  though  with  a  red  face,  '  Mr. 
Smack  ? — ah — yes — the  old  man  ;  he  has  no" 
13 


146  THE    AMERICAN    MECHANIC. 

been  in  active  business  for  several  years.'  I 
should  perhaps  have  been  content  with  going  thus 
far.  had  not  young  Mr.  Smack  launched  out  in  a 
strain,  more  affected  than  ever,  of  very  absurd 
discourse  about  playhouse  matters.  As  it  was,  '^ 
inasmuch  as  I  never  was  ashamed  of  being  a  me- 
chanic myself,  I  knew  no  reason  why  he  should 
be ;  so  at  the  earliest  rest  in  the  conversation,  I 
said,  '  Mr.  Smack,  I  am  pleased  to  see  that  you 
keep  up  the  old  business :  a  very  pretty  stand 
that  of  yours  in  Second  street ;  and  if  you  please 
customers  as  well  as  your  good  old  father  did,  I 
can  engage  for  your  success.'  This  speech  settled 
my  man.  He  turned  several  colours ;  the  pas- 
sengers exchanged  looks  and  smiled  ;  and  at  the 
next  watering-place  Mr.  Smack  went  outside  and 
made  the  rest  of  the  journey  on  the  box." 

"  I  can't  help  thinking,"  said  Sammy,  "  that 
this  was  a  little  illnatured  in  you,  father.  The 
thing  is  this.  We  live  in  a  land  of  liberty  and 
equality :  we  are  looked  down  upon  as  labourers, 
and  twitted  as  mechanics,  •  snobs,'  and  so  on.  It 
is  very  natural,  therefore,  that  a  man  should  try 
to  escape  these  sneers,  and  put  the  best  foot  fore- 
most." 

"  But  hold,  Sammy  ;  I  agree  it  is  natural  and 
right  to  escape  from  contempt ;  but  take  the  right 
way  to  effect  it.     What  is  the  right  way  ?     Cer- 


THE  MXCHANIC  ABOVE  HIS  BUSINESS.    147 

tainly  not  by  being  above  one's  business,  or  try- 
ing to  *  sink  the  shop.'  For  this  is  saying  that 
you  are  yourself  ashamed  of  your  calling ;  where- 
as you  ought  to  be  proud  of  it.  Why  conceal  a 
thing,  unless  you  think  it  a  disgrace  ?  Can  you 
expect  other  men  to  respect  that  which  you  de- 
spise yourself?  There  is  no  surer  way  of  bring- 
ing honest  industry  into  contempt,  than  by  using 
low  shifts  to  avoid  the  appearance  of  labour.  If 
you  wish  the  public  to  respect  your  vocation, 
show  that  you  respect  it  yourself." 

Such  was  the  advice  of  this  veteran  mechanic 
to  his  son ;  and  I  verily  believe  there  is  sound 
wisdom  in  it.  It  is  very  common  to  find  the  very 
same  persons  complaining  that  they  are  looked 
down  upon,  who  encourage  the  contempt  by 
seeming  ashamed  of  that  which  is  their  honour. 
After  some  years  of  careful  observation,  I  have 
never  seen  a  mechanic  above  his  business,  who 
did  not  meet  with  mortification  where  he  sought 
respect ;  and  I  have  never  seen  a  working-man, 
however  humble  his  sphere,  who  lost  any  con- 
sideration in  society  by  frankly  appearing  in  his 
real  character,  and  laying  his  own  hand  to  the 
task  whenever  it  became  needful.  The  working- 
men  of  America  constitute  a  powerful  and  in- 
creasing class,  and  should  do  nothing  to  betray  a 
doubt  as  to  their  own  respectability.  r 


148  THE    AMERICAN   MECHANIC. 


XXV. 

THE    MECHANIC    IN    SICKNESS. 

There  are,  at  any  given  moment,  more  scenes 
of  heart-touching  grief  among  the  humbler  classes 
of  society,  than  are  ever  dreamed  of  by  the  gay 
and  opulent.  It  is  one  thing  to  sigh  over  the 
pictured  sorrows  of  a  romance,  and  another  thing 
to  enter  among  the  realities  of  human  suffering. 
In  the  latter  case,  we  have  to  do  with  the  naked, 
and  often  loathsome  evil,  without  deduction,  and 
without  qualifying  refinements. 

Not  long  since,  my  business  led  me  to  visit 
the  family  of  a  young  mechanic  a  few  yards 
from  my  own  lodgings.  He  was  a  journeyman 
printer,  who  had  known  fairer  days  :  as  had  also 
his  wife,  a  very  young  woman  of  little  more  than 
twenty  years.  This  couple,  with  two  infants, 
occupied  a  confined  room  in  a  third  story.  Some 
of  my  readers  know  that  such  is  the  habitation 
of  many  a  larger  household  ;  and  when  favoured 
with  employment  and  health,  there  may  be  true 
comfort  even  in  such  a  spot.  But  the  case  was 
here  far  different.    At  my  first  entrance,  I  felt 


THE    MECHANIC    IN    SICKNESS  •  49 

that  I  was  inhaling  the  noxious  air  of  a  sick 
room.  The  apartment  was  kept  much  too  warm 
by  an  unmanageable  old  stove,  upon  which  were 
simmering,  in  one  or  two  earthen  mugs,  various 
simples,  imagined  to  be  suitable  to  the  patient. 
The  fumes  of  these,  and  the  atmosphere  of  a 
chamber  which  could  never  be  duly  ventilated, 
made  the  place  oppressive  in  the  extreme.  In 
one  corner,  upon  a  sorry  bed,  lay  poor  Jameson, 
haggard  and  wan,  and  plainly  labouring  under  a 
violent  pulmonary  affection.  The  hectic  spot 
upon  the  cheek,  and  the  painful  respiration,  too 
clearly  showed  the  nature  of  the  malady.  The 
hand  which  he  languidly  extended,  on  my  en- 
trance, was  husky  and  hot,  and  I  could  feel  the 
throb  of  the  angry  arteries,  even  without  touch- 
ing the  wrist.  His  eye  was  lighted  up  with  that 
peculiar  glow  which  accompanies  such  visita- 
tions. 

Near  the  bed,  the  pale  and  sorrowful  wife, 
while  she  held  her  husband's  hand,  seemed  at 
the  same  time  to  be  making  fruitless  attempts  so 
to  arrange  the  tattered  clothes  as  to  conceal  the 
meagemess  of  the  covering.  A  puny  child  was 
hiding  its  face  in  her  lap,  and  another  was  asleep 
upon  the  floor.  But  few  words  were  needed  to  let 
me  into  the  extent  of  their  disasters.  During  the 
earlier  summer  they  had  enjoyed  health,  and 
13* 


150  THE    AMERICAN    MECHANIC. 

found  ample  employment.  But  the  decline  of 
business  threw  Jameson  out  of  work ;  and  as  he 
had  never  earned  enough  to  justify  any  savings, 
the  end  of  the  season  found  him  almost  penni- 
less. Just  at  this  juncture,  an  unavoidable  expo- 
sure occasioned  a  cough,  which  settled  on  his ' 
lungs,  and  left  him  in  the  state  I  have  described. 
At  first  they  called  in  a  physician,  but  finding 
that  this  was  an  expense  beyond  their  means,  and 
that  his  prescriptions  were  of  little  avail,  they 
had  abandoned  this  reliance.  They  were  with- 
out friends,  or  a  single  acquaintance  except  the 
inmates  of  the  house,  who  treated  them  with 
vulgar  indifference. 

When  I  proceeded  to  inquire  more  closely  into 
their  circumstances,  the  poor  woman  burst  into 
lamentation,  and  begged  me  not  to  press  the  sub- 
ject, lest  the  excitement  should  be  too  much  for 
her  husband  ;  while  I  could  perceive  the  eyes  of 
the  sick  man  himself  filling  with  scalding  tears. 
Indeed,  it  would  be  hard  to  imagine  a  wretched- 
ness more  abject.  At  that  very  moment  they 
were  without  a  mouthful  of  food.  For  the  sick 
man  it  was  not  needed ;  and  the  heroic  self-devo- 
tion of  the  wife  seemed  to  raise  her  above  the 
ordinary  cravings  of  nature  ;  but  she  admitted 
that  her  heart  was  breaking  with  the  cries  of  her 
little  ones  for  bread. 


THE    MECHANIC    IN   SICKNESS.  151 

As  I  pursued  my  solitary  way  homeward,  sad- 
dened by  what  I  had  beheld,  my  gloom  was  in- 
creased by  the  reflection,  that  even  then,  and  in 
that  single  town,  there  were  doubtless  many  re- 
petitions of  the  same  scene ;  and  that  the  number 
of  these  must  necessarily  be  increased  upon  the 
access  of  a  severe  winter.  If,  therefore,  I  could 
write  a  line  which  might  serve  to  prevent  or  alle- 
viate such  burdens,  I  thought  the  effort  would  not 
be  undesirable.  Among  working-men,  who  "live 
from  hand  to  mouth,"  sickness  is  a  sore  calamity; 
and  on  an  examination  of  statistical  tables,  I  find 
that  on  an  extended  computation,  the  average  num- 
ber of  sick  days  in  a  working-man's  year  is  far 
greater  than  I  had  imagined.  The  late  pressure 
and  present  embarrassments  in  commerce  cannot 
fail  to  make  themselves  felt,  by  their  operation 
on  the  mind.  "  Of  the  causes  of  disease,"  says 
a  judicious  English  physician,  "  anxiety  of  mind 
is  one  of  the  most  frequent  and  important 
When  we  walk  the  streets  of  large  commercial 
towns,  we  can  scarcely  fail  to  remark  the  hurried 
gait  and  care-worn  features  of  the  well-dressed 
passengers.  We  live  in  a  state  of  unnatural  ex- 
citement; unnatural,  because  it  is  partial,  irre- 
gular, and  excessive.  Our  muscles  waste  for 
want  of  action  ;  our  nervous  system  is  worn  out 
by  excess  of  action."     We  may  add,  that  in 


152  THE    AMERICAN    MECHANIC. 

many  trades  there  is  an  excess  in  both  sorts  of 
action,  and  the  body  is  worn  away  by  labour 
while  the  mind  is  exhausted  by  despondency.  If, 
then,  disease  is  so  sore  a  calamity  to  the  working- 
man,  it  were  greatly  to  be  desired  that  every  such 
person  should  be  in  some  measure  familiar  with 
the  laws  of  his  animal  constitution,  and  by  all  pos- 
sible means  should  guard  against  the  decay  of  his 
animal  powers.  But,  inasmuch  as  sickness  is 
unavoidable,  with  even  the  wisest  precautions, 
there  are  one  or  two  considerations  which  every 
mechanic  should  ponder,  with  reference  to  what 
has  been  hinted  above. 

First,  Frugality  and  economy  should  be  used 
in  time  of  health,  in  order  to  lay  up  something 
for  time  of  sickness.  Disease  is  most  oppres- 
sive when  it  is  conjoined  with  poverty.  Though 
a  money-loving,  we  are  at  the  same  time  an 
improvident,  race.  Many  good  and  thrifty  ar- 
tisans lay  up  nothing.  I  know  men  now  in  ab- 
ject want,  who,  a  few  months  ago,  were  earning 
each  his  twenty  dollars  a  week.  What  can  such 
men  do  to  resist  the  sudden  tide  of  disease  ? 

Secondly,  Working-men  should  avail  them- 
selves of  associations  for  mutual  relief  in  case 
of  sickness.  Beneficent  societies  of  this  nature 
are  common,  but  hale  and  well-doing  persons  are 
in  many  instances  neglectful  of  this  resource  until 


THE    MECHANIC    IN    SICKNESS.  153 

it  is  too  late.  The  manner  in  which  these  institu- 
tions are  conducted  is  frequently  most  injudicious. 
The  rates  both  of  subscription  and  of  disburse- 
ment are  often  unwise,  and  contrary  to  all  sound 
principles  of  life-insurance  and  probability.  The 
consequence  is,  that  in  bad  times  the  fund  is  ex- 
hausted. Before  any  such  scheme  is  ratified,  it 
should  be  carefully  examined  by  persons  versed  in 
the  intricate  calculations  of  annuities.  And  when 
the  plan  goes  into  effect,  there  should  be  great  care 
taken  to  guard  against  wanton  expenditure  upon 
entertainments,  processions,  and  other  unneces- 
sary wastes.  I  would  commend  this  subject  to 
the  careful  discrimination  of  all  those  who  are 
interested  in  the  well-being  of  the  labouring 
classes. 

Thirdly,  Private  benevolence  should  busy  it- 
self in  seeking  out  and  relieving  all  such  cases 
of  distress.  Let  the  mechanic  feel  that  his  in- 
terest is  identified  with  that  of  all  his  brethren. 
Let  him  be  quick  to  descry,  and  alert  to  mitigate 
the  sorrows  of  his  own  townsmen  and  neighbours. 
No  associated  action  can  reach  every  case ;  but 
private  charity,  inspired  by  the  genius  of  the 
gospel,  may  ejxtend  its  kindly  arm  to  the  humblest 
sufferer.  It  is  one  of  the  most  striking  particulars 
in  the  account  of  the  last  judgment,  as  given  by  our 
Saviour,  that  the  great  final  doom  is  to  be  awarded 


154  THE    AMERICAN   MECHANIC. 

with  a  direct  reference  to  duties  of  this  very 
class.  That  which  is  done  for  Christ's  poor 
brethren  is  done  for  Christ;  and  if  we  neglect 
them,  we  neglect  our  own  salvation.  For  the 
King  shall  say  to  those  who  have  been  guilty  of 
this  omission,  "  I  was  an  hungered,  and  ye  gave 
me  no  meat ;  I  was  thirsty,  and  ye  gave  me  no 
drink ;  I  was  a  stranger,  and  ye  took  me  not  in  ; 
naked,  and  ye  clothed  me  not ;  sick  and  in  prison, 
and  ye  visited  me  not." 


THE  mechanic's  WINTER  EVENINGS.    155 

XXVI. 

THE    mechanic's    WINTER    EVENINGS. 

The  dreariest  of  all  the  seasons  is  not  without 
its  charms.  If  we  have  no  verdure,  nor  flowers, 
nor  zephyrs,  we  have  the  bright  fireside  and  the 
family  circle.  Some  of  our  most  valuable  attain- 
ments may  be  made,  and  some  of  our  purest 
pleasures  enjoyed,  during  the  long  winter  even- 
ings. It  is,  however,  unfortunately  the  case  with 
too  many,  that  these  fine  opportunities  are  thrown 
away. 

The  other  evening,  after  my  usual  light  meal, 
the  thought  struck  me,  that  I  would  give  some- 
thing to  know  how  some  half  dozen  of  my  ac- 
quaintances were  spending  their  hours  of  release. 
Now,  as  I  have  no  familiar  Asmodeus  to  unroof 
for  me  my  neighbours'  houses  and  disclose  their 
contents,  I  was  reduced  to  the  necessity  of  seizing 
my  good  oaken  stick,  and  sallying  forth  upon  a 
rapid  tour  of  espionage. 

At  the  very  first  corner,  I  perceived  through 
the  window  my  old  comrade  Stith,  employed,  as 
usual,  with  his  pipe.  After  a  day  spent  at  the  lathe. 


15C         ;  THE    AMERICAN   MECHANIC. 

he  thinks  himself  entitled  to  this  luxury ;  and 
with  his  dog  at  his  feet,  and  his  tobacco-box  at  his 
elbow,  he  sacrifices  long  hours  of  every  night  to 
the  subduing  influence  of  a  narcotic.  As  I  should 
only  disturb  his  reverie,  thought  I,  I  will  pass  on. 

Boulanger,  the  French  baker,  was  the  next  in 
order.  When  I  knocked,  there  was  no  reply. 
At  length  a  drowsy  boy  let  me  in,  and,  as  I  ex- 
pected, there  was  the  corpulent  master  of  the 
house  fast  asleep  in  an  arm-chair.  It  is  surprising 
how  "  practice  makes  perfect"  in  the  art  of  slum- 
bering. There  may  be  some  excuse  for  the  baker, 
who  has  to  rise  several  hours  before  day  ;  but  the 
practice  is  by  no  means  confined  to  him  ;  and  I 
know  more  than  one  working-man  who  prepares 
for  the  regular  night's  work  of  the  bed,  by  a  sort 
of  prelibation  in  the  chimney-corner.  This  case 
ofl'ered  nothing  to  detain  me. 

My  next  call  was  at  the  Golden  Swan,  one  of 
the  numerous  taverns  of  our  village.  The  bar- 
room was  highly  illuminated  with  many  lamps, 
and  two  bright  coal  fires :  the  atmosphere  was 
almost  palpable,  so  thick  was  the  smoke  ;  and  the 
air  was  redolent  of  alcoholic  mixtures.  Here  I 
found,  as  I  never  fail  to  find  at  this  hour,  four  or 
five  of  our  mechanics ;  some  smoking,  some 
chewing,  some  drinking  ;  and  all  engaged  with 
loud  voices  in  discussing  the  affairs  of  the  state 


THE  mechanic's  WINTER  EVENINGS.    157 

and  nation.  Of  such  men  the  tavern  is  the  home. 
True,  each  of  them  has  a  residence,  inhabited  by 
liis  wife,  and  known  by  the  assessor ;  and  where 
indeed  he  eats  and  sleeps :  but  that  is  not  his 
home.  His  heart  is  not  there,  but  at  the  bar- 
room, whither  he  goes  with  the  momentum  of  an 
unbent  spring,  whenever  labour  is  over ;  in  which 
he  spends  the  long  evening  of  every  day ;  and 
from  which  he  reels  to  his  family,  at  a  late  hour, 
to  chide  his  wife  for  being  np  so  late,  and  fo'* 
looking  so  melancholy. 

I  gladly  passed  on  to  the  dwelling  of  Quince, 
the  shoemaker.  Alas  !  the  scene  was  altered,  but 
not  improved.  The  spirit  of  intoxication  leads 
some  men  to  ruin  in  groups,  others  in  soli- 
tude. Quince  is  not  a  tavern-brawler,  but  a 
sot.  During  the  day  he  never  drinks  ;  during  the 
evening  he  does  little  else.  There  are  many  that 
have  a  fair  reputation  in  the  world,  who  never  go 
to  bed  sober.  I  am  willing  to  drop  a  veil  over 
the  particulars  which  I  witnessed. 

The  scene  brightened  when  I  reached  the  steps 
of  John  Hall,  the  cabinet-maker ;  for  I  found  his 
front  room  illuminated,  and  occupied  by  a  little 
religious  meeting.  But  I  proceeded,  and  stepped 
into  the  house  of  Dukes,  my  next  acquaintance, 
and  was  near  spending  the  whole  hour  there  ;  for 
he  and  his  wife  and  children  were  engaged  in  a 
14 


158  THE    AMERICAN    MECHANIC. 

little  musical  concert,  which  was  most  enviable. 
Mary  Dukes  sung  over  her  knitting,  and  Roberf 
sung  over  his  base-viol ;  while  the  two  boys,  oni, 
with  a  flute  and  the  other  with  a  violin,  added  a 
good  accompaniment.  As  I  hurried  away,  I 
perceived  the  silversmith,  who  hires  their  front 
room  for  a  shop,  busily  employed  in  posting  his 
books. 

Having  travelled  thus  far  on  one  side  of  the 
street,  I  thought  it  no  more  than  fair  to  return  on 
the  other ;  so  I  crossed  over,  and  knocked  at  the 
door  of  Belden,  the  coppersmith.  The  house  is 
one  of  the  tidiest  in  our  town,  at  whatever  hour 
you  may  drop  in ;  and  this  must  be  set  to  the 
credit  of  the  notable  partner.  Truly  the  sight 
was  a  pleasant  one  which  met  my  eyes  as  I 
was  ushered  into  their  best  room  ;  being  nothing 
less  than  a  genuine  old-fashioned  tea-drinkinp' 
with  some  dozen  of  pleasant  neighbours,  all  in 
their  best  dress  and  best  humours,  around  a  well- 
iaden  table  and  a  smoking  urn.  Wlien  I  com- 
pared the  healthy  glow  of  their  countenances  with 
the  excited  glare  of  the  tavern-haunters,  I  could 
not  hesitate  whose  evening  to  prefer.  But  I 
denied  myself,  and  went  on.  I  hesitated  a  mo- 
ment about  intruding  upon  my  friend  George 
Riley,  wheelwright,  because  I  remembered  how 
lately  he  had  lost  his  w>Ce  ;  but  lon<t  intimacy  era* 


THE  mechanic's  WINTER  EVENINGS     159 

boldened  me,  and  I  went  in.  George  was  sitting 
by  the  fire,  with  an  infant  on  his  knee,  and  two 
little  girls  seated  by  his  side.  He  was  talking 
with  them  in  a  low  tone  of  voice,  and  a  tear  was 
twinkling  in  his  eye  as  he  rose  to  accost  ine. 
No  doubt  he  was  giving  them  some  useful  in- 
struction, for  a  Bible  was  lying  open  on  the  stand, 
and  George  is  a  man  of  religious  feelings. 

Last  of  all,  I  chose  to  enter  the  little  back-room 
of  Henderson,  the  Scotch  weaver,  nothing  doubt- 
ing as  to  what  I  should  find.  As  I  expected, 
Colin  was  at  his  books.  A  large  map  was  spread 
out  upon  the  table,  and  on  this  he  was  tracing  the 
triumphant  progress  of  Napoleon,  whose  life  he 
was  engaged  in  reading.  Henderson  is  a  man  of 
slender  means,  but  he  finds  himself  able  to  lay 
out  a  few  dollars  every  year  upon  good  books ; 
and  the  number  of  these  has  increased  so  much, 
that  he  has  lately  fitted  up  a  neat  little  bookcase 
in  one  corner  of  his  room.  He  has  also  a  pair 
of  globes,  and  an  electrical  machine,  and  has 
made  himself  quite  familiar  with  natural  philo- 
sophy and  chemistry.  Almost  all  his  evenings 
are  spent  in  reading,  or  in  making  philosophical 
experiments ;  and  I  am  persuaded  that  none  of 
his  neighbours  enjoy  more  comfort  than  he. 
After  a  few  minutes'  conversation  with  him,  I 
came  home,  musing  upon  the  blindness  of  the 


160  THE    AMERICAN    MECHANIC. 

multitude,  who  cannot  perceive  the  profit  and 
pleasure  of  knowledge.  But  I  defer  ray  reflec- 
tions on  this  subject  for  another  paper,  as  I  have 
much  more  to  say  than  can  be  comprehended  in 
a  single  communication. 


THE    mechanic's    STUDIES.  l61 

XXVII. 

THE    mechanic's   STUDIES. 
Importance  of  Education  to  the  American  Mechanic  " 

I  AM  ready  to  believe  that  the  day  is  past,  in 
which  any  one  could  find  the  title  of  this  paper 
strange  or  ludicrous.  If  there  is  any  reader  who 
is  disposed  to  take  such  a  view  of  the  subject,  I 
must  set  him  down  as  an  emigrant  from  some 
despotic  state,  or  a  native  of  some  wild  frontier. 
There  are  regions,  and  there  have  been  periods 
of  time,  in  which  mechanics  have  been  held  at  so 
low  a  rate,  as  to  be  ranked  but  one  degree  above 
beasts  of  burden;  to  whom  we  might  look  for 
valuable  service,  but  who  needed  no  illumination. 
A  better  doctrine  prevails  in  America.  Wherever 
God  has  made  a  soul,  we  maintain  that  he  has 
furnished  a  receptacle  for  knowledge.  Some 
men  must  indeed  require  more  knowledge  than 
others,  just  as  some  men  acquire  more  wealth 
than  others  ;  but  man  is  an  intelligent,  or,  in  other 
words,  a  knowing  creature ;  and  we  wish  the 
stream  of  knowledge  to  be  conducted  to  every  in- 
dividual of  our  nation. 

14* 


f#t 


THE    AMERICAN    MECHANIC. 


The  working-man  is  not  expected  to  become 
an  erudite  scholar,  or  profound  philosopher ;  this 
is  the  lot  of  such  only  as  make  the  pursuit  of 
knowledge  their  great  business  for  life.  But  there 
is  no  man  who  may  not  acquire  information 
enough  on  every  subject,  to  be  highly  useful  and 
agreeable.  I  have  already  suggested,  in  the  course 
of  these  papers,  that  knowledge  is  peculiarly  im- 
portant to  mechanics  in  America.  In  our  free 
and  growing  country  there  is  no  barrier  to  inde- 
finite advancement.  Among  the  Hindoos,  the 
son  of  a  carpenter  must  be  a  carpenter  ;  and  the 
son  of  a  blacksmith,  a  blacksmith.  In  the  de- 
spotic states  of  Europe,  the  hedge  of  caste  is  not 
quite  so  high  ;  yet  such  is  the  state  of  society, 
that,  in  the  long  run,  the  labourer's  son  is  always 
a  labourer ;  and  though  many  sink  below,  few  rise 
above  the  level  of  their  origin.  How  different  is 
the  case  among  us  !  Every  reader  of  these  lines 
will  think  of  persons  who  were  once  poor  work- 
ing-men, but  who  are  now  not  merely  rich,  but 
distinguished  in  political  and  civil  life.  We  at 
once  call  to  mind  the  names  of  Benjamin  Frank- 
lin, David  Riltenhouse,  Nathaniel  Greene,  Roger 
Sherman,  and  Thomas  Ewing.  Here  then  is  a 
strong  reason  why  the  working-man  should  have 
education.  Perhaps  he  will  not  always  be  a 
working-man ;  nay,  it  is  his  aim  and  expectation 


'  THE    MECHANIC'S    STUDIES.  163 

to  be  something  more.  Now,  if  this  wish  be 
gratified,  he  will  find  himself  in  a  new  circle, 
amidst  new  companions,  and  where  new  qualifi- 
cations for  respectability  will  be  demanded. 
Among  men  of  information  and  refinement  of 
mind,  he  will  need  something  of  the  same,  in 
order  to  take  an  equal  rank.  There  are  few  ob- 
jects more  laughable  than  a  vulgar  and  ignorant 
man  of  wealth.  Every  young  mechanic  should 
resolve  to  gain  as  great  a  store  of  information  as 
is  possible,  in  order  to  be  ready  for  these  changes 
which  may  take  place  in  his  circumstances. 

But  there  is  another  peculiarity  of  American 
society,  which  renders  some  learning  indispen- 
sable to  the  mechanic.  Not  only  may  he  cease 
to  be  a  working-man,  but,  even  remaining  such, 
he  may  be  admitted  to  the  intimacy  of  the  accom- 
plished and  the  elegant.  Amidst  these  last  I  am 
bold  to  enrol  some  friends  among  the  labouring 
classes^-enough,  certainly,  to  show  that  the  two 
things  are  by  no  means  incompatible.  Now,  edu- 
cated and  refined  persons  do  not  enjoy  the  com- 
pany of  those  who  are  just  the  reverse.  If  you 
desire  to  mingle  with  persons  of  this  character, 
you  must  seek  to  have  some  of  their  excellencies  : 
and  having  these,  there  will  be  no  obstacle  to  your 
admission.  In  Europe  it  is  not  so  ;  there  the  de- 
marcation between  ranks  is  strongly  drawn.     In 


If^,  THE    AMERICAN   MECHANIC. 

America,  though  demagogues  are  fond  of  crying 
Aristocracy !  there  is  no  aristocracy  in  the  Eu- 
ropean sense  of  that  word.  Here,  it  is  true,  as  all 
over  the  world,  like  seeks  its  like — the  rich  man 
consorts  with  the  rich  man — the  poor  with  the 
poor — the  mechanic  with  the  mechanic.  But  let 
It  be  remembered,  that  in  America  the  educated 
man  also  seeks  the  intimacy  of  the  educated  man  ; 
and  this  whether  he  be  rich  or  poor.  Few  ties 
of  association  are  stronger  than  the  common  pur- 
suit of  knowledge.  If  you  are  possessed  of 
science,  or  even  seeking  it,  you  have  a  passport 
to  the  study  of  the  scholar.  My  word  for  it,  that 
this  experiment  will  not  fail.  Let  the  humblest 
labourer,  possessed  of  some  philosophical  acqui- 
sition, go  to  Bowditch,  Silliman,  Henry,  Cleve- 
land, Bache,  or  Emmet,  with  a  view  to  confer  on 
a  topic  of  common  interest,  and  I  will  engage  that 
no  one  of  these  learned  men  will  ask  whether  he 
IS  rich  or  poor — a  professor  or  a  pedler. 

Take  it  into  consideration,  likewise,  that  posts 
of  honour  and  responsibility  are  open  to  all  classes 
of  men  in  the  commonwealth.  No  poor  mother, 
who  looks  on  her  sleeping  babe,  can  predict  with 
certainty  that  this  very  child  may  not  one  day  be 
President  of  the  United  States.  Leaving  this  ex- 
treme supposition,  however,  let  it  be  noticed,  that 
.a  large  proportion  of  our  public  functionaries, 


THE    mechanic's    STUDIES.  1G5 

especially  in  the  new  states,  are  men  who  have 
laboured  with  their  hands.  How  did  it  happen 
that  these,  rather  than  many  others,  obtained  such 
prizes  ?  Was  it  by  mere  chance  ?  Certainly 
not ;  but  by  the  deliberate  choice  of  their  fellow- 
citizens.  Were  they  then  the  only  men  of  talents 
in  all  that  class  of  society  ?  By  no  means  :  there 
are  thousands  still  at  the  last  and  the  loom,  whose 
native  powers  are  equal  to  theirs.  What  then  is 
the  secret  of  their  advancement  ?  I  will  tell  you  : 
They  had  a  thirst  for  knowledge.  They  pursued 
and  attained  it.  Knowledge  is  power :  they  thus 
gained  power  over  their  fellow  men,  exactly  in 
proportion  to  their  mental  attainments.  Here  is 
a  motive  to  exertion,  which  might  well  move 
every  young  man  of  spirit  to  attempt  the  improve- 
ment of  his  mind. 

All  these  reasons,  notwithstanding  their  truth 
and  importance,  should  still  have  less  cogency 
than  the  conviction  of  duty,  which  must  arise 
•whenever  we  consider  ourselves  as  rational  and 
immortal  creatures.  God  has  not  given  us  these 
minds  to  be  unemployed.  Our  usefulness  in  life 
depends  very  much  on  the  exercise  which  we 
give  to  our  faculties. 

In  several  subsequent  papers,  I  propose  to  offer 
a  few  suggestions,  intended  to  stimulate  working 
men  to  more  earnest  intellectual  endeavours ;  to 


ttf  THE    AMERICAN   MECHANIC. 

point  out  the  advantages  and  pleasures  of  such 
pursuits  ;  to  give  some  hints  of  what  matters  it  is 
desirable  to  know  ;  to  indicate  the  ways  and  means 
of  acquiring  knowledge ;  and  to  encourage  even 
the  busy  mechanic  in  the  hope  that  by  redeem- 
ing time  he  may  arrive  at  invaluable  attainments. 
Let  me  ask  the  attention  of  the  industrious 
classes  to  these  counsels  of  a  friend. 


THE    mechanic's    STUDIES.  167 


XXVIII. 

THE    mechanic's    STUDIES. 
The  Pleasures  of  Knowledge. 

No  man  ever  needed  any  arguments  to  increase 
his  desire  for  the  pleasures  of  sense.  Yet  these 
pleasures  are  in  their  nature  evanescent;  soon 
palling  upon  the  jaded  appetite  ;  and,  when  pur- 
sued beyond  certain  very  narrow  limits,  produc- 
tive of  great  pain.  In  their  quality,  also,  they 
are  acknowledged  to  be  the  lowest  of  our  gratifi- 
cations. It  is  far  otherwise  with  the  pleasures 
of  the  mind.  These  are  high,  and  spiritual,  and 
ennobling,  and  may  be  pursued  without  weari- 
ness and  without  satiety. 

That  there  is  a  natural  thirst  in  all  men  for 
knowledge,  and  that  the  gratification  of  this  thirst 
conveys  pleasure,  are  truths  which  are  felt  to  be 
such  as  soon  as  stated.  The  infant's  curiosity, 
and  the  inquisitiveness  of  the  schoolboy,  the 
search  for  strange  or  wonderful  objects,  and  the 
universal  passion  for  news,  are  all  modifications 
of  the  same  original  propensity.  If  there  is  one 
boy  in  a  shop,  who  has  travelled  more,  or  read 


168  THE    AMERICAN    MECHANIC. 

more  than  his  fellows,  he  straightway  becomes 
their  oracle,  and  they  extract  from  him  all  that  he 
can  communicate.  Many  readers  of  the  news- 
papers are  really  hard  students ;  but  they  have 
never  yet  entertained  the  important  truths,  that 
all  serious  reading  is  study ;  that  the  same  pro- 
pensities are  gratified  in  perusing  the  news  as  in 
poring  over  the  sciences  ;  and  that  the  process 
of  acquiring  knowledge  is  in  both  cases  the  same. 
My  desire  is  to  impress  on  the  mind  of  every 
young  mechanic,  that  a  little  increase  of  learning 
will  give  him  a  great  increase  of  happiness. 
Knoivledge  Js  Power,  says  Lord  Bacon.  Know- 
ledge is  Pleasure,  we  may  add  with  equal  truth. 
Perhaps  you  will  grant  this,  but  you  have  taken 
up  the  notion  that  this  pleasure  must  be  sought 
through  a  great  deal  of  pain.  No  supposition 
can  be  more  erroneous.  The  first  steps  towards 
these  fruits  are,  indeed,  over  a  rugged  way.  The 
trunk  of  the  tree  is  of  difficult  ascent.  The  husk 
is  rough.  But  these  obstacles  are  little  more 
than  momentary,  and,  having  once  overcome 
them,  you  have  nothing  but  a  succession  of  en- 
joyments. Indeed,  the  pursuit  of  knowledge  is 
so  purely  pleasurable,  that  I  have  often  paused, 
and  sat  in  amazement  at  the  blindness  and  folly 
of  those,  who,  with  every  opportunity  and  free 
invitation,  never  enter  this  garden.     I  may  say 


THJB.  MBCHA>'IC'S    STUDIES.  169 

w.ith  Milton,  ta  suck  as  yield  to  my  guidance, 
"We  shall  conduct  you  to  a  hill-side,  laborious 
indeed  at  the  first  ascent;  but  else  so  smooth, 
so  green,  so  full  of  goodly  prospects  and  melo- 
dious sounds,  that  the  harp  of  Orpheus  was  not 
more  charming." 

The  pleasures  of  knowledge  are  distinct  from 
its  utility ;  and  were  there  no  profit  in  science,  it 
might  still  be  sought  as  the  highest  luxury.  By 
reading  and  study  you  become  acquainted  with  a 
great  number  of  new  and  extraordinary  truths. 
Hear  Lord  Brougham  on  this  point:  "  How  won- 
derful are  the  laws  that  regulate  the  motions  of 
fluids  !  Is  there  any  thing  in  all  the  idle  books 
of  tales  and  horrors,  more  truly  astonisliing  than 
the  fact,  that  a  few  pounds  of  water  may,  by 
mere  pressure,  without  any  machinery — by 
merely  being  placed  in  a  particular  way,  produce 
an  irresistible  force  ?  That  the  diamond  should 
be  made  of  the  same  material  as  coal ;  that  water 
should  be  chiefly  composed  of  an  inflammable 
substance ;  that  acids  should  be,  for  the  most 
part,  formed  of  difiereut  kinds  of  air ;  that  one 
of  these  acids,  whose  strength  can  dissolve 
almost  any  of  the  metals,  should  consist  of  the 
selfsame  ingredients  with  the  common  air  we 
breathe  ;  that  salts  should  be  of  a  metallic  nature, 
and  composed  in  great  part  of  metals,  fluid  like 
15 


170^  THE    AMERICAN    MECHANIC. 

quicksilver,  but  lighter  than  water,  and  which, 
without  heating,  take  fire  upon  being  exposed  to 
the  air,  and,  by  burning,  form  the  substance  so 
abounding  in  saltpetre  and  in  the  ashes  of  burnt 
wood:  these,  surely,  are  things  to  excite  the 
wonder  of  any  reflecting  mind — nay,  of  any  one 
but  little  accustomed  to  reflect.  And  yet  these 
are  trifling  when  compared  to  the  prodigies  which 
astronomy  opens  to  our  view :  the  enormous 
masses  of  the  heavenly  bodies  ;  their  immense 
distances,  their  countless  numbers,  and  their  mo- 
tions, whose  swiftness  mocks  the  utmost  efforts 
of  the  imagination."  To  this  we  may  add  the 
pleasure  of  discerning  new  relations  between 
truths  already  known  ;  of  advancing  in  the  track 
of  discovery  ;  and  of  conducting  trains  of  rea- 
soning to  undeniable  conclusions.  For  lighter 
hours,  the  records  of  past  ages  open  a  path  of 
entertainment  far  more  healthful,  and  far  more 
enduring  than  the  pages  of  the  romance.  Tnith 
is  more  wonderful,  more  fascinating  than  fiction. 
I  have  recently  been  reading  a  detailed  account 
of  the  French  Revolution,  by  a  very  eminent 
statesman  of  France :  and  I  can  truly  say,  that 
although  I  have  been  a  great  devourer  of  novels 
in  my  day,  I  have  never  had  my  curiosity,  sym- 
pathy, dread,  and  indignation,  wound  up  to  so 
high  a  pitch  of  interest,  as  in  the  perusal  of  these 


THE    mechanic's    STUDIES.  171 

volumes.  Why  should  the  mechanic,  more  than 
other  men,  be  willing  to  remain  in  ignorance  of 
all  that  has  been  occurring  for  centuries  upon  our 
globe  ?  His  interests  are  those  of  common 
humanity.  An  ancient  has  said,  "  Not  to  know 
what  happened  before  you  were  born,  is  to  be 
always  a  child."  Why  should  not  the  mechanic, 
as  well  as  his  Avealthier  neighbours,  enjoy  the 
high  satisfaction  of  reading  the  story  of  past 
ages,  and  especially  of  his  country's  independ- 
ence ?  If  it  be  possible  for  a  working-man  to 
have  these  exquisite  satisfactions,  surely  every 
one  will  say  at  once.  Let  him  have  them  without 
delay.  That  it  is  possible,  I  mean  to  show  in 
the  papers  which  follow.  One  of  the  greatest 
privileges  of  a  freeman  is  denied  to  him  who  re- 
mains in  ignorance — for  he  might  as  well  be  a 
slave.  The  religious  man,  also,  who  suffers  his 
mind  to  continue  without  cultivation,  buries  one 
of  his  most  important  talents.  "  The  delight  is 
inexpressible,"  says  the  noble  author  quoted 
above,  "  of  being  able  to  follow,  as  it  were,  with 
our  eyes,  the  marvellous  works  of  the  Great 
Architect  of  Nature — to  trace  the  unbounded 
power  and  exquisite  skill  which  are  exhibited  in 
the  most  minute,  as  well  as  tlie  mightiest  parts 
of  his  system.  The  pleasure  derived  from  this 
study  is  unceasing,  and  so  various,  that  it  never 


1^ 


THE    AMERICAN   MECHANIC. 


tires  the  appetite.  But  it  is  unlike  the  low  gra- 
tifications of  sense  in  another  respect:  while 
those  hurt  the  health,  debase  the  understanding, 
and  corrupt  the  feelings,  this  elevates  and  refines 
our  nature,  teaching  us  to  look  upon  all  earthly  ^ 
objects  as  insignificant  and  below  our  notice,  ex-, 
cept  the  pursuit  of  knowledge  and  the  cultivation 
of  virtue ;  and  giving  a  dignity  and  importance 
to  the  enjoyment  of  life,  which  the  frivolous  and 
the  grovelling  cannot  even  comprehend." 


THE   mechanic's   STUDIES.  173 


XXIX. 

THE    mechanic's    STUDIES. 
The  Profit  cf  Knowledge. 

Knowledge  is  Power,  said  Lord  Bacon,  and 
the  aphorism  has  become  immortal ;  but  I  thmk 
it  has  not  been  sufficiently  considered  that  the 
same  observation,  in  substance,  was  made  many 
centuries  earlier  by  Solomon,  who  says.  Wis- 
dom is  better  than  strength.  When  I  think  of 
answering  the  question,  "  What  are  the  uses  of 
knowledge  ?"  I  am  disheartened  at  the  greatness 
of  the  subject.  Volumes  might  be  written  in 
reply ;  and  I  am  almost  tempted  to  cut  the  matter 
short,  by  saying,  "  All  conceivable  uses."  All  the 
good  there  is  in  the  world  is  in  a  sense  the  pro- 
duct of  knowledge.  Compare  the  Hottentot  with 
the  Englishman,  and  own  the  power  of  education. 
Knowledge  is  the  instrument  in  civilizing  the 
world ;  and  in  proportion  to  the  knowledge  of  any 
individual  is  his  exaltation  above  the  savage  state. 

You  are,  let  me  suppose,  an  artisan  ;  you  know 
that  some  information  is  useful  to  certain  ends, 
but  you  are  contented  to  seek  those  ends  by  an 
15* 


tT4  THE    AMERICAN    MECHANIC. 

easier    and    shorter  method,   independently  of 
science.     Allow  me  to  tell  you  that  you  egre- 
giously  mistake.     You  cannot  throw  out  the  in- 
fluence of  knowledge  any  more  than  the  influence 
of  gravity.     It  is  still  knowledge  which  governs, 
though  it  may  not  be  possessed  by  you.     The 
only  option  which  you  have,  is  between  being 
under  the  dominion  of  other  people's  knowledge, 
or  taking  part  in  the  direction  by  your  own.  This 
makes  a  striking  difilerence  among  mechanics. 
One  man  is  a  mere  imitator.     He  turns  out  good 
work,  but  precisely  as  his  old  master  did  fifty 
years  ago.     He  has  no  principles,  exercises  no 
reason,  and  makes  no  improvements.     It  is  his 
pleasure  to  drive  his  wheel  in  the  old  rut.     This 
is  more  like  instinct  than  intellect ;  thus  the  bird 
builds  its  nest  precisely  as  its  ancestors  have  don6 
ever  since  the  creation.     But  a  second  workman 
has  knowledge  ;  he  learns  to  investigate  ;  he  ap- 
plies a  little  science  to  his  work,  and  he  becomes 
a  discoverer.    His  methods  are  the  fruit  of  reflec- 
tion, and  they  save  labour,  time,  materials,  and 
money. 

Let  me  illustrate  this  a  little  more  fully.  The 
story  is  familiar  of  the  boy  who  always  took  his 
sacks  to  the  mill  with  the  com  in  one  end  and  a 
great  stone  to  balance  it  in  the  other :  his  father 
and  grandfather,  forsooth,  had  done  so  before  him. 


THE    mechanic's    STUDIES.  17^ 

Here  we  have  a  picture  of  the  way  in  which 
ignorant  men  go  on  from  age  to  age  without  ad- 
vancement. It  may  be  safely  alleged  that  there 
is  no  handicraft,  however  plain  or  humble,  to 
which  some  Of  the  principles  of  science  may  not 
be  applied  with  advantage.  In  the  more  glaring 
cases,  every  one  grants  this.  Thus  a  clock-maker 
should  know  something  about  oscillating  bodies ; 
a  pump-maker  something  of  hydraulics.  Yet 
even  in  these  instances  many  pursue  their  trades 
with  a  mere  blind  imitation,  and  are  totally  at 
fault  when  a  new  case  occurs.  The  coachmaker, 
and  even  the  wagoner,  would  gain  by  understand- 
ing a  few  principles  about  the  proper  line  of 
draught,  and  the  advantage  or  disadvantage  of  the 
several  sorts  of  springs.  A  caster  of  metals  was 
for  months  perplexed  by  finding  that  he  could 
scarcely  ever  hit  the  precise  weight  of  metal  to 
be  used  in  casting  an  article  of  irregular  form  ;  at 
length  a  neighbouring  schoolmaster  taught  him 
a  simple  law  of  hydrostatics,  and  then  he  had 
only  first  to  immerse  his  model  in  a  tub  of  water, 
and  then  to  throw  in  metal  until  it  reached  the 
same  height.  Every  one  sees  that  some  science 
is  required  for  the  invention  of  the  Nott  or  the 
Olmsted  stove  ;  but  it  is  not  so  readily  acknow- 
ledged that  some  science  is  required  in  order  to 
use  them  with  economy  and   advantage.     The 


iff  THE    AMERICAN   MECHANIC. 

roughening  of  surfaces  which  are  to  radiate  heat 
is  a  dictate  of  philosophy  which  is  often  very 
important.  MetalUc  coffee-pots  sometimes  burn 
the  fingers  :  this  is  avoided  by  making  the  handle 
partly  of  a  non-conductor ;  but  I  have  seen  the 
bungling  imitator  copy  this  very  article,  with  the 
ignorant  substitution  of  the  painted  metal  for 
painted  wood  ;  thus  defeating  the  object.  Many 
a  good  miller  spoils  his  mill  by  unphilosophical 
tampering ;  as,  for  instance,  by  placing  cogs  on 
one  of  the  rings  of  the  water-wheel,  or  using  a 
driving-wheel  of  equal  diameter ;  thus  giving  a 
check  to  the  momentum. 

Many  valuable  products  of  the  earth  are  lost  by 
tlie  ignorance  of  their  possessors.  In  some  of 
our  States,  how  long  was  it  before  the  properties 
of  marl  were  fully  recognised  ;  and  how  many 
agriculturists  are  still  incompetent  to  make  a  dis- 
criminating use  of  this  mineral  substance.  With- 
in thirty  years,  manganese  was  imported  into 
England  from  Germany  for  the  arts,  while  masses 
of  it  were  ignorantly  used  for  the  repair  of  roads ; 
and  it  is  not  two  centuries  since  the  tinners  of 
Cornwall  threw  away  the  ores  of  copper,  as 
refuse,  under  the  name  of  poder.  "  To  how 
many  kinds  of  workmen  must  a  knowledge  of 
mechanical  philosophy  be  useful !  To  how  many 
others  does  chemistry  prove  almost  necessary ! 


THE  MECHANIC  S  STUDIES.  177 

Every  one  must  perceive  at  a  glance,  that 
to  engineers,  watchmakers,  instrument-makers, 
bleachers,  and  dyers,  those  sciences  are  most 
useful,  if  not  necessary.  But  carpenters  and 
masons  are  surely  likely  to  do  their  work  better 
for  knowing  how  to  measure,  which  practical 
mathematics  teaches  them,  and  how  to  estimate 
the  strength  of  timber,  of  walls,  and  of  arches, 
which  they  learn  from  practical  mechanics  ;  and 
they  who  work  in  various  metals  are  certain  to  be 
more  skilful  in  their  trades  for  knowing  the  nature 
of  these  substances,  and  their  relations  to  both 
heat  and  other  metals,  and  to  the  airs  and  liquids 
they  come  in  contact  with.  Nor  is  it  enough  to 
say,  that  philosophers  may  discover  all  that  is 
wanted,  and  may  invent  practical  methods,  which 
It  is  sufficient  for  the  working-man  to  learn  by 
rote,  without  knowing  the  principles.  He  never 
will  work  so  well  if  he  is  ignorant  of  the  prin- 
ciples ;  and  for  a  plain  reason  :  if  he  only  learns 
his  lesson  by  rote,  the  least  change  of  circum- 
stances puts  him  out.  Be  the  method  ever  so 
general,  cases  will  always  arise  in  which  it  must 
be  varied  in  order  to  apply ;  and  if  the  workman 
only  knows  the  rule  without  knowing  the  reason, 
he  must  be  at  fault  the  moment  he  is  required  to 
make  any  new  application  of  it."* 
•  Library  of  Useful  Knowledge,  vol.  i.  Prelim.  Treatise. 


178  THE    AMERICAN    MECHANIC. 

So  much  for  that  knowledge  which  comes  into 
play  in  the  prosecution  of  the  several  trades.  But 
over  and  above  this,  there  is  no  sort  of  informa- 
tion which  may  not,  at  one  time  or  another,  con- 
duce to  man's  comfort  or  emolument.  In  this 
country  we  are  all  fond  of  being  politicians,  and 
proud  of  the  right  of  discussion,  and  the  elective 
franchise.  The  history  of  states  and  revolutions 
is,  after  all,  the  great  treasury  of  political  science, 
and  every  free  citizen  should  have  access  to  these 
stores. 

In  a  word,  if  you  desire  to  rise  in  society,  and 
to  influence  others,  labour  for  an  increase  of  your 
knowledge.  The  method  is  infallible.  Look 
around  you,  and  find  the  man  who  excels  all  his 
fellows  in  useful  information,  and  you  will  per- 
ceive in  him  one  who  governs  the  minds  and  the 
conduct  of  a  large  circle. 


THE   mechanic's   STUDIES.  179 


XXX. 

THE    mechanic's    STUDIES. 

Discouragemenis, 

In  smoothing  the  way  for  the  working-man 
towards  the  attainment  of  knowledge,  I  find  that 
I  have  not  many  predecessors.*  It  is  only  in 
modern  times  that  any  such  assistance  has  been 
systematically  proflfered.  Among  the  works  of 
the  ancients,  there  are  none  which  invite  the 
labouring  classes  to  share  in  the  banquet  of  sci- 
ence ;  and  even  in  later  days,  the  popular  essays 
of  Johnson  and  Addison  have  been  addressed  to 
the  wealthy  and  the  gay.  Within  a  few  years 
past,  the  cause  of  popular  education,  in  all  free 
States,  has  begun  to  assume  its  just  rank ;  and 
various  publications  have  been  made  to  stimulate 
the  productive  portion  of  nations  to  inquiry  and 
culture.  Still  there  are  many  objections  to  be 
met,  and  many  discouragements  to  be  blown 
away,  before  we  can  awaken  to  action  even  those 

•  There  is,  of  course,  an  exception  here  in  favour  of  one 
or  two  excellent  compilations,  which  are  recommended  on 
another  page. 


18G,  THE    AJVIjERICAK:  M^CHAN::^. 

who  admit  the  excellency  of  education.  I  pro- 
pose to  evince  to  the  intelligent  mechanic,  that 
the  acquisition  of  learning  is  practicable ;  that 
there  is  no  obstacle  which  may  not  be  surmounted; 
and  then,  in  succeeding  papers,  to  show  by  un- 
doubted facts,  that  every  sort  of  difficulty  has 
actually  been  overcome.  Let  me  consider  some 
of  the  objections  which  are  likely  to  arise. 

1.  TVie  acquisition  of  learning  is  a  great 
work,  and  lam  appalled  by  its  vastness.  True, 
the  work  is  great,  but  not  impossible.  To  attempt 
the  whole  circle  of  sciences  would  be  vain ;  but 
to  gain  a  part,  and  that  a  large  part,  is  by  np 
means  out  of  the  question.  Dr.  Johnson  some- 
where uses  a  happy  illustration,  of  which  I.  can 
only  recollect  the  outline.  Let  a  man  sit  down 
at  the  foot  of  a  high  mountain,  to  contemplate  itp 
greatness,  and  he  will  be  ready  to  say,  "  The  at- 
tempt is  futile  ;  I  can  never  go  over  it."  Yet,  on 
second  thought,  he  perceives  that  the  work  is  to 
be  achieved,  not  at  one  mighty  leap,  but  by  suc- 
cessive steps,  and  by  the  simple  process  of  put- 
ting one  foot  before  the  other.  The  same  great 
philosopher  has  said:  "The  chief  art  of  learn- 
ing, as  Locke  has  observed,  is  to  attempt  but 
little  at  a  time.  The  widest  excursions  of  the 
mind  are  made  by  short  flights  frequently  re- 
peated :   the  most  lofty  fabrics   of  science   are 


THE    MECHANIC'S    STUDIES.  181 

formed  by  the  accumulation  of  single  proposi 
tions."  Sands  make  the  mountain,  moments 
make  the  year.  The  rock  is  worn  away,  not  by 
sudden  force,  but  by  perpetual  droppings. 

2.  /  am  poor,  and  cannot  hope  to  become  a 
scholar.  Blessed  be  God !  no  golden  key  is  re- 
quired in  order  to  enter  the  garden  of  knowledge. 
Poverty  offers  hinderances,  but  only  enough  to 
induce  more  strenuous  efforts.  I  mean  to  adduce 
examples  of  wonderful  attainments  made  by  men 
whose  penury  was  greater  than  that  of  any  one 
who  reads  these  pages.  Much  may  be  learned 
from  a  few  books,  and  much  may  be  learned 
without  any  books  at  all.  Some  of  the  most 
brilliant  discoveries  in  philosophy  and  chemistry 
have  flowed  from  experiments,  the  whole  appa- 
ratus for  which  did  not  cost  a  dollar.  Let  the 
poor  man  think  of  Heyne,  Hutton,  and  Ferguson, 
of  whom  more  hereafter.  Wealth  does  not  en- 
sure learning.  Indeed,  opulence  relaxes  perhaps 
quite  as  much  as  want  contracts  the  mind.  One 
of  the  papers  of  the  Rambler  is  entitled,  "  On 
the  difiiculty  of  educating  a  young  nobleman." 
It  is  possible  that  if  you  were  rich  you  would  be 
far  less  disposed  to  acquire  knowledge  than  yon 
are  at  present. 

3.  My  occupation  is  laborious,  and  J  have  no 
time  for  study      Certainly  you   are   unable  to 

16 


182  THE    AMERICAX    MECHANIC. 

command  as  much  time  as  men  of  leisure ;  but 
you  overrate  the  difficulty.  There  is  not  one 
person  in  ten  who  does  not  spend  some  of  his 
hours  in  idleness,  if  not  in  vice.  Most  hard- 
working men  pass  more  of  their  time  in  actual 
labour  than  is  good  for  either  mind  or  body  :  na- 
ture is  supported  with  moderate  toil,  and  there 
should  be  a  portion  reserved  for  the  refreshment 
and  discipline  of  the  understanding.  Besides, 
more  may  be  learned  by  devoting  a  few  moments 
daily  to  reading,  than  you  would  at  first  suppose. 
Five  pages  may  be  read  in  fifteen  minutes  ;  at 
which  rate  one  may  peruse  twenty-six  volumes, 
of  two  hundred  pages  each,  in  a  single  year.  By 
saving  the  broken  fragments  of  time,  and  redeem- 
ing hours  from  sloth  and  sleep,  it  is  almost  incre- 
dible how  much  may  be  accomplished  without 
interfering  with  the  most  industrious  habits. 

4.  /  have  no  teacher  or  assistant.  A  good 
mstructer  is  of  great  use,  and  saves  much  unne- 
cessary labour ;  but  even  this  is  not  indispensable. 
You  will  see  from  the  examples  which  I  shall 
give,  how  many  have  become  learned  in  spite  of 
this  defect.  Most  educated  persons,  even  among 
those  who  have  enjoyed  the  best  tuition,  will  tell 
you,  that  by  far  the  most  valuable  part  of  their 
educaUon  is  that  which  they  have  given  them- 
selves.   Some  of  the  greatest  philosophers  and 


THE   mechanic's    STUDIES.  188 

scholars  whom  the  world  has  seen  have  been 
literally  self-taught  men.  Only  determine  to 
acquire  knowledge;  use  the  best  helps  you  have; 
and  wherever  you  may  begin,  you  will  certainly 
€nd  in  great  acquirements. 

5.  My  early  education  was  neglected^  and  I 
Am  now  too  old  to  begin.  Let  me  call  the  at- 
tenUon  of  every  youthful  reader  to  this  objection. 
How  powerful  an  argument  may  be  drawn  from 
it  in  favour  of  beginning  at  once  !  But  even  to 
those  who  are  somewhat  advanced  in  life,  I  would 
say  with  the  proverb,  "  Better  late  than  never." 
Be  encouraged  :  you  have  lost  the  highest  prize, 
but  there  are  others  behind.  It  is  true  that  the 
man  who  begins  his  journey  after  the  sun  is  high, 
cannot  overtake  him  who  started  at  dawn,  but 
by  activity  he  may  still  do  a  great  deal.  You  will 
have  to  work  harder  than  others,  but  your  gain 
will  be  just  in  proportion  to  your  own  efforts. 

6.  My  talents  are  only  of  the  ordinary  kind. 
Be  it  so :  you  may  still  employ  them  so  as  to 
add  immensely  to  your  profit  and  happiness.  It 
is  an  injurious  error  to  suppose  that  the  difficulties 
in  the  way  of  knowledge  can  be  overcome  only 
by  extraordinary  genius.  Sir  Henry  Savile,  pro- 
vost of  Eton,  and  one  of  the  translators  of  our 
English  Bible,  used  to  say,  "  Give  me  the  plod- 
ding student.     If  I  would  look  for  wits,  I  would 


184  THE    AMERICAN   MECHANIC. 

go  to  Newgate.  There  be  the  wits."  That 
same  good  sound  common-sense  which  conducts 
you  through  the  details  of  your  trade,  will,  if 
properly  directed,  lead  you  to  the  most  desirable 
attainments  in  knowledge.  Perhaps  you  may 
never  become  a  Bacon,  a  Newton,  or  a  Pascal, 
but  you  may  obtain  enough  to  double  your  use- 
fulness and  your  comfort.  Lay  it  down  as  a 
maxim,  that  no  difficulty,  arising  from  outward 
circumstances,  can  effectually  resist  a  steady  de- 
termination to  excel. 


THE    mechanic's    STUDIES.  185 

XXXI. 

THE    mechanic's    STUDIES. 
Examples. 

^  To  say  wliat  can  be  done  is  less  imprestjive 
tba4;  to  say  what  has  been  done  ;  therefore  I  pro- 
pose by  a  number  of  examples  to  show  what  the 
love  of  learning  and  persevering  industry  have 
accomplished,  even  in  the  persons  of  the  humble.* 
I  might  begin  with  Franklin  ;  but  I  take  it  for 
granted  that  every  reader  of  these  pages  is  fami- 
liar with  his  history.  Linnaeus  is  an  instance 
less  hackneyed.  It  is  known  that  he  became  the 
greatest  naturalist  of  his  day,  and  the  father  of  a 
system  which  bears  his  name.  But  it  is  not  so 
generally  known  that  Linnaeus,  the  founder  of  the 
science  of  botany,  was  once  seated  on  the  shoe- 
maker's bench.  John  Hunter,  one  of  the  greatest 
anatomists  of  our  own  or  any  age,  was  a  cabinet- 
maker's apprentice,  aaid  spent  tlie  first  twenty 

•  It  is  no  more  than  just  to  say  here,  once  for  all,  that  iu 
a  number  of  these  instances  the  author  has  done  little  more 
than  abridge  the  lives  published  by  the  "  Society  for  the  Dif- 
fusion of  Useful  Knowledge." 

16* 


186  THE    AMERICAN    MECHANIC. 

years  of  his  life  without  education.  At  this  late 
period,  he  was  led,  by  the  failure  of  his  master, 
to  become  an  assistant  in  his  brother's  dissecting- 
room  ;  and  here  his  genius  was  awakened.  The 
great  dramatist,  Ben  Jonson,  was  a  working 
bricklayer,  and  afterwards  a  soldier.  The  great-  • 
est  of  modern  comic  writers,  Moliere,  was  four- 
teen years  old  before  he  was  an  adept  in  reading 
and  writing.  Hans  Sachs,  an  early  German 
poet  of  great  fame,  and  a  very  learned  scholar, 
was  the  son  of  a  tailor,  and  served  an  apprentice- 
ship, first  to  a  shoemaker,  and  afterwards  to  a 
weaver ;  and  continued  to  work  at  the  loom  as 
long  as  he  lived.  John  Folcz,  another  German 
poet,  was  a  barber.  John  Christian  Theden, 
who  rose  to  be  chief  surgeon  to  the  Prussian 
army,  had  been  a  tailor's  apprentice.  Paucton, 
an  eminent  French  mathematician,  was  bred  in 
such  poverty,  that  he  received  scarcely  any  edu- 
cation until  he  reached  his  eighteenth  year. 

A  very  remarkable  exemplification  of  successful 
enterprise  occurs  in  the  case  of  Stephen  Duck, 
a  native  of  Wiltshire.  He  was  born  about  1700, 
of  poor  parents,  and  received  a  little  school  in- 
struction. He  then  became  a  common  labourer 
for  some  years,  and  forgot  all  that  he  had  pre- 
viously learned.  At  length  he  began  to  read  a 
little,  and  found  a  thirst  for  knowledge  excited. 


THE    mechanic's    STUDIES.  187 

He  was  now  twenty-four  years  of  age,  with  a 
wife  and  family,  engaged  at  hard  labour,  and  too 
poor  to  buy  any  books.  Yet  by  extra  jobs  he 
earned  enough  to  purchase  one  or  two  works  on 
arithmetic  and  surveying.  These  he  studied  with 
great  avidity,  at  night,  while  others  were  asleep. 
From  a  comrade  he  borrowed  a  few  books,  such 
as  Milton,  the  Spectator,  Seneca's  Morals,  an 
English  Dictionary  and  Grammar,  Ovid,  Jose- 
phus,  a  few  plays,  Dryden's  Virgil,  Hudibras, 
and  the  poems  of  Waller  and  Prior,  In  process 
of  time  he  became  himself  a  poet,  and  attracted 
some  attention,  so  that  he  received  a  pension  from 
the  queen.  He  applied  himself  to  the  learned 
languages,  took  holy  orders,  and  lived  in  much 
respectability  until  the  year  1756. 

This  instance,  in  common  with  most  which  I 
cite,  shows  that  poverty  is  no  effectual  barrier  to 
the  pursuit  of  knowledge.  The  history  of  the 
great  scholar  Erasmus  is  well  known.  While 
he  was  studying  at  Paris  his  necessities  were 
Tery  great,  so  that  he  was  reduced  to  rags ;  yet 
such  was  his  literary  zeal,  that  he  wrote  to  a 
friend :  "  As  soon  as  I  get  money,  I  will  first  buy 
Greek  books,  and  then  clothes."  Among  the 
classical  scholars  of  our  day,  there  has  been  no 
one  more  distinguished  than  the  German,  Heyne, 
a  voluminous  commentator  on  Homer  and  Virgil, 


188  THE    AMERICAN   MECHANIC. 

and  an  eminent  professor;  yet  his  origin  was 
humble,  and  he  had  to  struggle  through  great 
poverty-  His  father  was  a  poor  weaver,  with  a 
large  family.  "  Want,"  says  Heyne,  "  was  the 
earliest  companion  of  my  childhood.  I  well  re- 
member the  painful  impressions  made  upon  my 
mind  by  witnessing  the  distress  of  my  mother, 
when  without  food  for  her  children.  How  often 
have  I  seen  her,  on  a  Saturday  evening,  weeping 
and  wringing  her  hands,  as  she  returned  home 
from  an  unsuccessful  effort  to  sell  the  goods 
which  the  daily  and  nightly  toil  of  my  father  had 
manufactured."  After  the  usual  course  at  a  vil- 
lage school,  the  poor  lad  wished  to  learn  Latin, 
and  engaged  to  pay  a  schoolfellow  fourpence  a 
week  for  instructing  him  ;  but  even  this  pittance 
would  have  been  too  much  for  him  to  raise,  if  it 
had  not  been  for  the  kindness  of  a  baker  who 
was  his  godfather.  From  this  time  forward  he 
battled  with  misfortune  till  he  entered  the  univer- 
sity. Here  his  ardour  for  study  was  such,  that 
for  six  months  he  allowed  himself  only  two 
nights'  sleep  in  the  week.  It  is  needless  to  trace 
his  further  course :  what  has  been  stated  shows 
that  poverty  is  no  effectual  obstacle. 

The  great  Herschel  was  a  self-taught  astro- 
nomer. He  was  the  son  of  a  poor  musician,  and 
at  the  age  of  fourteen  was  placed  in  a  band  of 


THE    mechanic's    STUDIES.  189 

music  attached  to  the  Hanoverian  guards.  After 
going  to  England  he  undertook  instruction  in 
music  ;  then  became  an  organist.  But  while  he 
was  supporting  himself  in  this  way,  he  was  learn- 
ing Italian,  Latin,  and  even  Greek.  From  music 
he  was  naturally  led  to  mathematics,  and  thence 
to  optics  and  astronomy.  His  name  is  now  in- 
scribed among  the  planetary  orbs. 

The  inventer  of  the  Achromatic  Telescope  is 
another  instance  in  point.  John  Dollond  spent 
his  early  years  at  the  silk-loom.  But  even  in 
boyhood  he  evinced  a  taste  for  mathematics,  and 
used  to  amuse  himself  w^ith  making  sundials,  and 
solving  geometrical  problems.  Yet  he  continued 
in  his  original  business  even  for  some  years  after 
his  eldest  son  came  to  an  age  to  join  him  in  it. 
During  all  this  period,  however,  he  was  making 
silent  advances  in  scientific  reading.  At  the  age 
of  forty-six,  he  and  his  son  devoted  themselves 
to  optics,  and  proceeded  from  step  to  step  until 
his  great  discovery  respecting  light,  which  ele- 
vated him  to  the  acme  of  his  reputation. 

How  many  manufacturers,  who  may  cast  their 
eyes  on  these  lines,  might  find  in  the  imitation 
of  Dollond  an  ennobling  as  well  as  entertaining 
pursuit ! 


190  THE    AMERICAN   MECHANIC. 


XXXII. 

THE    mechanic's    STUDIES. 
More  Examples. — Learned  Shoemakers. 

When  we  have  to  wrestle  with  difficulties,  it 
is  cheering  to  know  that  others  before  us  have 
met  and  overcome  them.  The  working-man, 
who  is  earnestly  endeavouring  to  obtain  learning, 
will  find  much  to  incite  him  in  the  following  in- 
stances. 

Joseph  Pendrell  spent  his  days  as  a  shoe- 
maker. When  he  was  a  boy,  he  once  happened 
to  stop  at  a  book-stall,  where  he  saw  a  book  of 
arithmetic  marked  fourpence.  He  bought  it,  and 
immediately  began  to  study  it.  At  the  end  of 
this  volume  there  was  a  short  introduction  to 
mathematics.  This  awakened  his  curiosity,  and 
he  went  on  adding  one  book  to  another,  and  read- 
ing tJiese  at  little  snatches  of  time,  until  at  length 
he  reached  the  higher  branches  of  mathematics. 
When  he  became  a  journeyman  he  used  all  pos- 
sible economy  in  order  to  purchase  books.  Find- 
ing that  many  works  on  his  favourite  subject  were 
written  in  French,  he  bought  a  grammar  and  die- 


THE    mechanic's    STUDIES.  191 

tionary,  and  mastered  this  language.  Then  he 
proceeded  to  acquire  the  Latin  and  the  Greek, 
and  formed  a  collection  of  classical  books.  Dur- 
ing all  this  progress,  however,  he  kept  himself 
concealed  from  public  observation ;  but  he  con- 
trived to  make  himself  master  of  fortification, 
navigation,  astronomy,  and  all  the  branches  of 
natural  philosophy.  He  also  became  versed  in 
elegant  literature.  Pendrell  died  in  London,  in 
the  seventy-fifth  year  of  his  age. 

Alexander  Murray  was  a  Scottish  shepherd's 
boy,  and  was  born  in  1775.  His  father  taught 
him  the  alphabet  by  writing  it  on  the  back  of  an 
old  wool-card.  He  then  learned  to  read  in  an  old 
catechism,  out  of  which  he  used  to  copy  the 
letters.  In  1782,  he  exchanged  tliis  for  a  psalm- 
book.  Next  he  procured  a  New  Testament,  and 
read  the  historical  books  ;  and  afterwards  became 
the  master  of  a  loose-leaved  Bible.  He  spent 
much  of  his  time,  while  tending  sheep,  in  writing 
on  boards  with  a  coal.  In  1784,  he  attracted  the 
notice  of  an  uncle,  who  sent  him  to  school ;  but 
tliis  was  only  for  one  quarter,  and  then  for  five 
years  he  had  no  teacher.  During  this  time  he 
read  nothing  but  penny  ballads  and  the  Bible.  In 
1787,  he  fell  upon  Josephus,  and  Salmon's  Geo- 
graphy, of  which  he  copied  the  maps.  At  twelve 
years  of  age  he  became  teacher  of  the  neighbour's 


192  THE    AMERICAN   MECHANIC. 

children,  for  which  service  his  winter's  remune- 
ration was  sixteen  shillings  !  After  this  he  again 
went  to  school,  pored  over  the  arithmetic,  perused 
the  Spectator,  and  studied  book-keeping.  In  1790, 
he  learned  the  Hebrew  letters  from  the  119th 
psalm,  in  an  old  Bible.  Then  he  studied  French, 
and  afterwards  got  an  old  Latin  grammar,  which 
he  learned,  comparing  it  with  the  French.  So 
he  went  on,  and  with  such  patience  that  he  care- 
fully read  the  whole  of  a  Latin  dictionary.  His 
next  study  was  Milton's  Paradise  Lost,  of  which 
he  never  ceased  to  be  an  enthusiastic  admirer. 
In  1791,  he  began  the  Greek,  and  also  proceeded 
to  apply  himself  in  good  earnest  to  the  Hebrew. 
These  languages  he  continued  to  cultivate,  some- 
times teaching,  and  sometimes  labouring,  but 
always  depending  on  his  own  exertions.  Thus 
he  made  progress,  adding  one  attainment  to  an- 
other, till  at  length  he  became  the  author  of  a 
learned  work,  and  professor  of  oriental  languages 
in  the  university  of  Edinburgh. 

Among  modern  critics  and  scholars  there  is  no 
name  more  distinguished  than  that  of  William 
GiFFORD,  the  founder  and  editor  of  the  Quarterly 
Review.  He  was  bom  at  Ashburton,  Devonshire, 
in  1765.  Being  left  an  orphan,  and  about  being 
sent  to  the  poor-house,  he  was  put  to  school  for 
awhile  by  his  godfather,  and  learned  a  few  of  the 


THE    mechanic's    STUDIES.  193 

elements.  Then  he  became  a  ship-boy  on  board 
of  a  coasting  vessel,  and  performed  the  most 
menial  duties.  At  the  age  of  fourteen,  he  re- 
turned to  school,  where  he  distinguished  himself; 
but  up  to  this  time  his  only  reading  had  been  the 
Bible,  Thomas  a  Kempis,  and  an  old  romance. 
He  was  now  apprenticed  to  a  shoemaker,  but  was 
a  very  poor  workman,  and  devoted  many  of  his 
hours  to  arithmetic  and  algebra.  His  only  book 
was  a  treatise  on  the  latter  of  these  sciences ; 
and  for  lack  of  other  conveniences,  he  used  to 
work  out  his  problems  on  leather,  with  a  blunted 
awl.  At  this  juncture  he  began  to  make  verses, 
greatly  to  the  displeasure  of  his  master.  Six 
years  he  drudged  as  a  shoemaker,  often  sinking 
into  the  deepest  melancholy,  when,  at  the  age  of 
twenty,  he  was  taken  up  by  some  kind  patrons, 
and  prepared  for  the  University  of  Oxford.  He 
afterwards  became  one  of  the  most  celebrated  or- 
naments of  modern  literature. 

Robert  Bloomfield,  the  author  of  the  Farmer's 
Boy,  may  here  be  mentioned.  His  father,  who 
was  a  tailor,  died  before  Robert  was  a  year  old, 
and  all  the  education  which  the  boy  ever  re- 
ceived, out  of  his  mother's  house,  was  two  or 
three  months'  instruction  in  writing.  At  the  age 
of  eleven,  he  became  a  farmer's  boy.  At  fifteen, 
he  began  to  learn  the  shoemaker's  trade  with  an 
17 


194  THE    AMERICAN   MECHANIC. 

elder  brother  living  in  London.  He  worked  in 
a  garret  with  four  others,  and  used  to  be  selected 
to  read  the  papers  to  the  others.  An  English  dic- 
tionary, cost  fourpence,  was  the  first  book  he  pos- 
sessed ;  but  after  a  while,  the  shoemakers  took  in 
weekly  numbers  of  the  British  Traveller,  a  geo- 
graphy, and  a  History  of  England,  which  Robert 
read  to  them  while  they  were  at  work.  His 
brother  calculates  that  he  spent  in  this  way  about 
as  many  hours  every  week  in  reading,  as  boys 
generally  do  in  play.  "  I,  at  this  time,"  says  the 
same  brother,  "  read  the  London  Magazine  ;  and 
in  that  work  about  two  sheets  were  set  apart  for 
a  review.  Robert  always  seemed  eager  to  read 
this  review.  Here  he  could  see  what  the  literary 
men  were  doing,  and  learn  how  to  judge  of  the 
merits  of  the  works  that  came  out.  And  I  ob- 
served that  he  always  looked  at  the  '  poets' 
corner.'  And  one  day  he  repeated  a  song  which 
he  composed  to  an  old  tune.  I  was  surprised 
that  he  should  make  so  smooth  verses ;  so  I  per- 
suaded him  to  try  whether  the  editor  of  our  paper 
would  give  them  a  place  in  '  poets'  corner.'  He 
succeeded,  and  they  were  printed."  Such  was 
his  first  leaning  towards  poetry.  In  this  garret 
he  composed  the  Farmer's  Boy,  amidst  all  the 
noise  of  the  hammer  and  the  last. 

Thomas  Holcroft  is  well  known  as  the  au- 


THE    mechanic's    STUDIES.  195 

thor  of  "  Hugh  Trever,"  and  other  fictions.  He 
was  born  in  London,  in  1745.  His  father  was  a 
shoemaker,  and  his  mother  a  huckster  of  greens 
and  oysters.  For  a  very  short  time  he  was  car- 
ried to  a  children's  school  by  an  apprentice  of  his 
father's.  After  the  removal  of  the  family  into 
Berkshire,  the  boy  learned  to  read,  and  this  kind 
apprentice  used  to  bring  him  little  books  from  the 
metropolis.  The  mother  became  a  pedler,  and 
Thomas  trotted  after  her  through  the  country, 
sometimes  begging,  and  often  near  starvation. 
Soon  after  this  he  became  a  stable-boy  at  New- 
market, where  he  picked  up  a  few  volumes,  such 
as  Gulliver's  Travels,  The  Whole  Duty  of  Man, 
and  the  Pilgrim's  Progress.  He  practised  arith  • 
metic  with  an  old  nail  upon  the  paling  of  the 
stable-yard.  After  two  years  thus  spent,  he  re- 
joined his  father,  who  now  kept  a  cobbler's  stall 
in  South  Audley  street.  At  the  age  of  twenty, 
he  attempted  to  teach  a  school,  but  returned  to 
the  stall.  Then  he  began  to  write  for  the  news- 
papers :  and  such  were  the  beginnings  of  a  man 
who  became  in  time  a  learned  scholar,  and  a 
writer  of  some  popularity. 


196  THE    AMERICAN   MECHANIC. 


XXXIII. 

THE    mechanic's    STUDIES. 
Examples  of  Self-instruction. 

Why  may  not  the  young  artisan  who  takes  up 
this  volume  become  a  learned  man  ?  The  thing 
has  been  done  before,  and  may  be  done  again. 
Many  a  soul  of  genius  is  this  moment  buried  in 
the  shop  and  the  factory.  I  shall  proceed  with 
my  examples,  availing  myself  of  the  authorities 
already  mentioned. 

The  best  beginning  I  can  make  is  with  the  case 
of  James  Ferguson,  the  Scottish  philosopher. 
James  was  the  son  of  a  day-labourer,  and  was 
born  in  1710.  Such  was  his  early  thirst  for  edu- 
cation, that  he  learned  to  read  tolerably  well  be- 
fore his  father  had  any  suspicion  that  he  knew 
his  letters.  When  about  eight  years  of  age,  he 
began  to  make  experiments  with  levers,  which  he 
called  bars,  and  succeeded  in  discovering  the  great 
mechanical  principle  which  regulates  their  opera- 
tion. In  the  same  manner  he  found  out  the  law 
of  the  wheel  and  axle — being  without  books  or 
teacher,  or  any  tools  but  his  father's  turning-lathe 


THE    mechanic's    STUDIES.  197 

and  a  pocket-knife.  He  had  actually  written  out 
an  account  of  his  supposed  discoveries  before  he 
learned  that  the  same  things  were  contained  in 
printed  books.  While  employed  as  a  shepherd's 
boy,  he  used  to  amuse  himself,  in  the  midst  of 
his  flock,  by  making  models  of  spinning-wheels 
and  mills ;  and  at  night  he  studied  the  starry 
heavens.  His  method  was  to  wrap  himself  in  a 
blanket,  and,  with  a  lighted  candle,  to  lie  for  hours 
on  his  back  in  the  open  fields.  "  I  used  to 
stretch,"  says  he,  "  a  thread  with  small  beads  on 
it,  at  arm's  length,  between  my  eye  and  the  stars, 
sliding  the  beads  upon  it  till  they  hid  such  and 
such  stars  from  my  eye,  in  order  to  take  their 
apparent  distances  from  one  another;  and  then 
laying  the  thread  down  on  a  paper,  I  marked  the 
stars  thereon  by  the  beads."  Mr.  Gilchrist,  the 
minister  of  Keith,  coming  to  the  knowledge  of 
this,  furnished  him  with  compasses,  ruler,  pens, 
ink,  and  paper,  and  set  him  to  copying  maps. 
His  kind  master  often  took  the  flail  out  of  his 
hands  and  worked  himself,  while  James  sat  by 
him  in  the  barn,  busy  with  his  pen,  rule,  and 
dividers.  A  neighbouring  butler  gave  him  some 
hints  in  dialling,  decimal  fractions,  and  algebra, 
and  lent  him  books.  Among  these  was  a  geo- 
graphy, which  contained  a  description  of  a  globe, 
but  without  any  figure.  This  set  Ferguson  at 
17* 


198  THE    AMERICAN    MECHANIC. 

work,  and  he  made  a  wooden  ball,  covered  it 
with  a  map,  and  thus  made  the  first  artificial 
globe  he  ever  saw.  By  the  aid  of  this  he  solved 
problems. 

Soon  after  this  be  became  an  invalid,  and  went 
into  the  service  of  a  miller.  Here  he  made  a 
wooden  clock,  and  afterwards  a  wooden  watch, 
both  of  which  kept  time  pretty  well.  From  this 
he  proceeded  to  clean  clocks,  to  copy  prints,  and 
even  to  take  likenesses ;  and  followed  the  busi- 
ness of  a  painter  for  six-and-twenty  years.  Here 
we  may  leave  him,  after  saying  that  his  nume- 
rous works  on  philosophical  subjects  are  still 
held  in  high  esteem. 

Next  I  adduce  the  case  of  Thomas  Simpson, 
the  great  mathematician.  He  was  born  in  Leices- 
tershire, in  1710.  His  father  was  a  weaver,  with 
whom  Thomas,  after  learning  to  read  imperfectly, 
began  to  learn  his  trade.  But  he  loved  books, 
and  was  resolved  to  be  a  scholar.  This  led  to 
repeated  quarrels  with  his  father,  who  turned 
him  out  of  doors.  He  found  refuge  in  the  house 
of  a  poor  widow,  and  there  stole  a  litde  time  for 
reading.  From  a  fortune-telling  pedler,  who  pre- 
tended to  astrology,  he  acquired  some  taste  for 
astronomy.  Cocker's  Arithmetic  and  a  book  of 
algebra  introduced  him  to  the  exact  sciences. 
He  became  a  schoolmaster  for  a  time,  but  soon 


THE    mechanic's   STUDIES.  199 

returned  to  the  loom,  still  making  wonderful  at- 
tainments in  knowledge.  Having  heard  of  the 
mysteries  of  the  differential  calculus,  he  procured 
two  works  on  fluxions,  and  not  only  mastered 
them,  but  qualified  himself  to  write  a  book  on 
this  intricate  subject,  which  was  afterwards  pub- 
lished, and  gained  great  applause.  After  this 
time  his  mathematical  publications  rapidly  follow- 
ed one  another ;  he  became  professor  of  mathe- 
matics at  Woolwich  and  a  fellow  of  the  Royal 
Society,  and  died  in  1761. 

The  next  example  is  not  less  instructive, 
though  it  is  that  of  a  less  celebrated  man.  Ed- 
mund Stone  was  the  son  of  the  Duke  of  Argyle's 
gardener.  As  the  duke  was  walking  one  day  in 
his  garden,  he  observed  a  Latin  copy  of  Newton's 
"  Principia"  lying  on  the  grass,  and  supposing  it 
had  been  brought  from  his  own  library,  called 
upon  some  one  to  carry  it  back.  "  Upon  this," 
says  his  biographer,  "  Stone,  who  was  then  in 
his  eighteenth  year,  claimed  the  book  as  his  own. 
*  Yours  V  replied  the  duke  :  *  do  you  under- 
stand geometry,  Latin,  and  Newton  V  '  I  know 
a  little  of  them,'  replied  the  young  man.  The 
duke  was  surprised ;  and,  having  a  taste  for  the 
sciences,  he  entered  into  conversation  with  the 
young  mathematician.     He  asked  him  several 


200  THE    AMERICAN   MECHANIC. 

questions ;  and  was  astonished  at  the  force,  the 
accuracy,  and  the  candour  of  his  answers.  '  But 
how,'  said  the  duke,  '  came  you  by  the  know- 
ledge of  all  these  things  ?'  Stone  replied,  '  A 
servant  taught  me,  ten  years  ago,  to  read.  Does 
one  need  to  know  more  than  the  twenty-four 
letters  in  order  to  learn  every  thing  else  that  one 
wishes  ?^  The  duke's  curiosity  redoubled :  he 
sat  down  on  a  bank,  and  requested  a  detail  of 
the  whole  process  by  which  he  had  become  so 
learned. 

*"  I  first  learned  to  read  ;'  said  Stone :  *  the 
masons  were  then  at  work  on  your  house.  I 
approached  them  one  day,  and  observed  that  the 
architect  used  a  rule  and  compass,  and  that  he 
made  calculations.  I  inquired  what  might  be 
the  meaning  and  use  of  these  things,  and  I  was 
informed  that  there  was  a  science  called  arith- 
metic. I  purchased  a  book  of  arithmetic,  and 
learned  it.  Iwas  told  there  was  another  science 
called  geometry;  I  bought  the  necessary  books,  and 
learned  geometry.  By  reading,  I  found  that  there 
were  good  books  in  these  two  sciences  in  Latin ; 
I  bought  a  dictionary,  and  I  learned  Latin.  I 
understood,  also,  that  there  were  good  books  of 
the  same  kind  in  French ;  I  bought  a  dictionary, 
and  I  learned  French.  And  this,  my  lord,  is  what 


THE    mechanic's    STUDIES.  201 

I  have  done :  it  seems  to  me  that  we  may  learn 

every  thing  when  we  know  the  twenty-four  letters 
of  the  alphabet.'  "  Stone  also  became  a  useful 
mathematical  writer,  and  a  member  of  the  Royal 
Society ;  and  though  he  is  by  no  means  to  be 
compared  with  Simpson,  yet  it  was  one  of  Stone's 
books  from  which  Simpson  acquired  his  first 
knowledge  of  fluxions. 

To  my  other  instances  I  might  add  those  of 
three  Americans,  who  are  all  living,  all  working 
printers,  and,  if  I  mistake  not,  all  journeymen. 
From  motives  of  delicacy,!  must  suppress  names, 
out  the  truth  of  the  statement  can  be  abundantly 
vouched  by  many  who  will  peruse  these  pages. 
The  first  is  the  case  of  a  self-taught  man  in  the 
city  of  Albany,  well  known  as  an  excellent  work- 
man, and  no  less  so  among  scientific  men  as  one 
of  the  most  profound  mathematicians  in  America. 
The  second  case  is  that  of  a  younger  man,  re- 
siding in  Brooklyn,  who,  amidst  the  labours  of  the 
composing-desk  and  the  press,  has  found  time  to 
make  himself  thorough  master  of  the  Hebrew, 
Greek,  Latin,  French,  and  German  languages,  and 
is,  moreover,  one  of  the  few  men  in  the  United 
States  who  are  versed  in  the  Arabic  tongue. 
The  third  is  a  journeyman  in  the  printing  house 
of  the  American  Sunday-school  Union,  whose 
poetical  efiusions,  under  the  signature  of  T.  M cK., 


202  THE    AMERICAN    MECHANIC. 

though  as  yet  little  noticed,  would  not  discredit 
more  famous  pens.* 

In  closing  this  paper,  let  me  earnestly  recom- 
mend to  every  inquiring  mechanic,  a  book  by 
Professor  Edwards,  of  Andover,  entitled  the 
"Biography  of  Self-taught  Men." 

•  I  subjoin  the  shortest  piece  of  this  writer's  that  I  can  find. 
THE  SYCAMORE  BOUGH. 

Upon  an  ancient  sycamore 

A  noble  bough  there  grew. 
And  fostered  myriads  of  leaves 

That  hid  itself  from  view. 
When  winter  came  with  angry  breath. 

The  bough  was  brown  and  bare  ; 
Gone  were  the  summer-hearted  leaves 

That  once  were  nurtured  there. 

Thus  with  vain  man.    In  summer  days 

The  world  around  him  clings ; 
It  guiles  his  heart,  and  o'er  his  faults 

A  leafy  mantle  flings ; 
It  blinds  him,  till  the  bitter  day 

Of  pain  and  death  comes  on, — 
And  leaves  him,  then,  to  bear  hi?  woes 

Unaided  and  alone. 

Not  so  the  lowly  man  who  walks 

The  path  that  Jesus  trod, — 
Who  daily  learns  to  die ;  whose  "  life 

Is  hid  with  Christ  in  God." 
The  world  can  ne'er  between  his  soul 

And  God's  love  intervene ; 
In  joy  or  sorrow,  life  or  death. 

His  hope  is  evergreen. 


THE    MECHANIC  S   STUDIES.  203 


XXXIV. 

THE    mechanic's    STUDIES. 

Clarke — Coleman — Drew — Hill — Wild. 

There  have  been  few  instances,  in  our  day,  of 
more  successful  perseverance  against  difficulties, 
than  that  of  the  great  commentator,  doctor  Adam 
Clarke.  Though  not  a  mechanic,  he  had  to 
surmount  obstacles  as  great  as  those  which  lie  in 
the  path  of  most  working-men.  It  is  known 
that  at  the  time  of  his  death  he  took  rank  among 
the  most  learned  men  of  the  age;  yet,  in  1782, 
he  was  a  poor  Methodist  preacher;  and  they 
who  are  acquainted  with  the  labours  of  this 
indefatigable  class,  know  that  they  have  any 
thing  but  an  easy  life.  The  toils  of  journeying 
did  not,  however,  prevent  his  learning.  He  had 
already  made  some  progress  in  Latin,  Greek,  and 
French,  but  these  he  was  forced  to  intermit  in 
eome  degree,  having  to  travel  several  miles  every 
day,  and  to  preach,  on  an  average,  thirty  days  in 
each  month.  That  he  might  not  lose  the  whole 
time  which  he  was  obliged  to  employ  in  riding, 


204  THE   AMERICAN   MECHANIC. 

he  accustomed  himself  to  read  on  horseback.  In 
this  way  he  read  many  volumes.  He  also  began 
the  study  of  Hebrew,  in  which  he  afterwards  be- 
came such  a  proficient 

In  his  biographical  sketch  of  himself,  he  gives 
some  account  of  another  Methodist  preacher, 
named  Anprew  Coleman,  who,  though  a  poor 
youth,  and  destitute  of  the  ordinary  helps  to  edu- 
cation, "  attained  to  such  a  pitch  of  mental  culti- 
vation before  his  seventeenth  year,  as  few  have 
Deen  able  to  acquire  in  the  course  of  a  long 
life.  He  became  master  of  the  Latin  and  Greek 
languages,  and  made  considerable  progress  in  He- 
brew. To  these  studies  he  joined  geometry,  as- 
tronomy, chronology,  history,  and  most  branches 
of  the  mathematics.  When  he  was  about  four- 
teen years  of  age,  he  had  the  whole  of  the  Com- 
mon Prayer  by  heart.  He  had  made  himself  such 
a  master  of  the  ^neid  of  Virgil,  and  the  Paradise 
Lost  of  Milton,  at  the  same  age,  that  on  the  men- 
tion of  any  line  in  either  of  these  poems,  he 
could  immediately  tell  the  book  in  which  it  oc- 
curs, and  the  number  of  the  line."* 

At  this  point,  I  might  adduce  the  late  remark- 
able metaphysician,  Samuel  Drew.  First  a  poor 
boy,  and  then  a  working  shoemaker,  he  became 
one  of  the  closest  thinkers  and  most  profound 
*  Clarke's  Life,  vol.  i.  p.  G3. 


THE    mechanic's    STUDIES.  205 

reasoners  of  our  age.  Whatever  may  be  thought 
of  his  opinions,  no  one  can  fail  to  admire  the 
talent  displayed  in  his  works  on  the  resurrection, 
the  immortality  of  the  soul,  and  the  being  and 
attributes  of  God.  Samuel  Drew  was  born  in 
the  parish  of  St.  Austell,  in  Cornwall,  March 
3, 1765.  He  was  the  son  of  a  poor  labourer.  All 
he  ever  learned  at  any  school  was  his  alphabet. 
At  the  age  of  seven,  he  was  obliged  to  go  to 
work,  his  wages  being  twopence  a  day.  At 
the  age  of  ten  years  and  a  half,  he  was  bound 
apprentice  to  a  shoemaker,  in  the  parish  of  St. 
Blazey.  During  his  apprenticeship  he  made  some 
progress  in  reading,  chiefly  by  means  of  a  paper 
called  the  Weekly  Entertainer.  Nothing  in  this 
journal,  he  tells  us,  so  much  excited  his  atten- 
tion, as  the  adventures,  vicissitudes,  and  disasters 
to  which  the  American  war  gave  rise.  On  set- 
ting up  for  himself,  as  he  did  near  Plymouth,  he 
lost  his  opportunities  of  reading,  which  he  did 
not  regain  until,  after  four  years,  he  became,  at 
St.  Austell,  the  foreman  of  a  shoemaker,  saddler, 
and  bookbinder,  who  afterwards  removed  to 
America.  Here  he  had  various  books,  and  read 
diligently ;  though  his  knowledge  of  hard  words 
was  so  scanty  that  he  had  to  make  perpetual 
use  of  a  dictionary.  Among  other  books  brought 
to  be  bound,  he  had  access  to  Locke's  Essay. 
18 


206  THE    AMERICAN    MECHANIC. 

He  had  never  heard  of  it  before.  He  read  it 
M'ith  admiration,  nay,  amazement.  It  opened  to 
him  a  new  world,  and  made  him  a  metaphysician 
for  life.  For  several  years,  all  his  leisure  hours 
were  given  to  reading ;  but  he  tella  us  this  never 
mterrupted  his  business. 

Perhaps  Drew  might  never  have  become  aa 
author,  if  it  had  not  been  for  an  attempt  made  by 
a  young  gentleman  to  convert  him  to  the  opinions 
of  Thomas  Paine.  The  attempt  failed,  and  Drew 
wrote  down  his  answers  to  Paine,  which,  in 
1799,  appeared  in  a  pamphlet,  being  his  first 
publication.  The  reviewers  praised  the  work, 
and  the  humble  author  continued  to  write  and 
publish ;  nor  did  he  cease  until  he  had  become 
known  to  the  British  public  as  the  writer  of 
several  profound  works  on  the  most  recondite 
points  in  philosophy. 

Among  these  instances  of  self-instruction,' it 
would  be  wrong  to  omit  the  name  of  Robert 
Hill.  He  was  bom  in  Hertfordshire,  in  1699. 
At  the  age  of  fifteen,  he  was  bound  apprentice  to 
a  tailor,  with  whom  he  remained  the  usual  term. 
In  1716,  he  chanced  to  get  hold  of  broken  copies 
of  the  Latin  grammar  and  dictionary.  He  had 
already  acquired  the  habit  of  sitting  up  the 
greater  part  of  every  night  at  his  books,  but  he 
now  received  a  powerful  incitement  to  the  study 


THE    mechanic's    STUDIES.  207 

of  languages.  During  a  prevalence  of  the  small- 
pox, which  drove  him  away  from  his  former  re- 
sidence in  Buckingham,  he  kept  his  uncle's  she-ep, 
,  in  which  employment  he  was  very  happy ;  "  for," 
said  he,  "  I  could  lie  under  a  hedge  and  read  all 
day  long."  On  his  return  home,  he  resumed  his 
Latin,  and  used  to  bribe  the  schoolboys,  by  small 
favours,  to  help  him  over  his  difficulties.  He 
would  willingly  run  on  an  errand,  in  consi- 
deration of  being  taught  the  meaning  of  some 
word  which  was  not  in  his  dictionary.  Before 
he  ended  his  apprenticeship,  he  had  read  a 
good  part  of  Caesar,  and  of  the  Latin  Testament. 
The  next  event  was  his  receiving,  as  a  present, 
copies  of  Homer  and  the  Greek  Testament. 
This  was  enough  to  start  him  with  a  new  lan- 
guage ;  accordingly  he  taught  a  young  gentleman 
to  fish,  in  return  for  a  Greek  grammar,  and  some 
instructions.  In  1724,  he  opened  a  school,  which 
he  taught  for  six  or  seven  years.  But,  unfortu- 
nately, at  his  beginning  he  had  only  ciphered  "  a 
little  way  into  division,"  and  had,  nevertheless, 
to  teach  arithmetic.  One  of  his  scholars  had 
proceeded  as  far  as  decimal  fractions.  Hill 
adopted  the  following  plan  :  he  set  his  pupil,  by 
way  of  preliminary  exercise,  to  copy  a  series  of 
tables,  which  had  some  apparent  relation  to  the 
subject  of  his  intended  studies.     This  occupied 


208  THE    AMERICAN    MECHANIC. 

six  weeks,  during  which  the  poor  master  often 
sat  up  nearly  the  whole  night,  in  order  to  get  a 
little  in  advance  of  his  pupil.  A  few  years  after 
this,  he  bought  a  lot  of  thirteen  Hebrew  books, 
for  as  many  shillings,  and  succeeded  in  learning 
this  language  also.  Such  were  his  methods, 
which  need  not  detain  us  longer.  Hill  died  ia 
1777. 

Let  the  working-man  who  reads  this,  lay  down 
the  book  for  an  instant,  and  ask  himself,  how 
much  he  might  have  acquired,  if  he  had  possessed 
the  same  thirst  for  knowledge ;  nay,  how  much 
he  might  still  learn.  For  the  encouragement  of 
diffident  minds,  let  it  be  noticed,  that  Hill  was  by 
no  means  what  is  called  a  genius.  His  attain- 
ments were  made  by  dogged  perseverance,  such 
as  the  apprentice  who  reads  this  might  use  with 
equal  success.  He  acquired  every  thing  slowly. 
He  said  himself  that  he  had  been  seven  years 
learning  Latin,  and  twice  as  long  learning  Greek ; 
and  though  he  declared  that  he  could  teach  any 
person  Hebrew  in  six  weeks,  he  had  to  struggle 
alone  against  very  great  difficulties.  "  When  I 
was  saying  to  him,"  says  Spence,  his  biographer, 
"  that  I  was  afraid  his  studies  must  have  broke  in 
upon  his  other  business  too  much ;  he  said  that 
sometimes  they  had  a  little ;  but  that  his  usual 
way  had  been  to  sit  up  very  deep  into  the  nights, 


THE    MECHANIC  S    STUDIES.  209 

OT  else  to  rise  by  two  or  three  in  the  morning,  on 
purpose  to  get  time  for  reading,  without  preju- 
dicing himself  in  his  trade."  He  lived  to  be 
seventy-eight  years  old.* 

From  the  same  invaluable  book,  in  the  Library 
of  Entertaining  Knowledge,  which  supplied  me 
w^ith  several  examples,  I  borrow  one  more,  which 
shall  be  ray  last  in  this  connexion. 

Henry  Wild,  of  Norfolk,  was  also  a  tailor. 
During  seven  years  of  service  under  his  inden- 
ture, and  seven  more  as  a  journeyman,  he  forgot 
all  that  he  had  previously  learned  at  school.  A 
lingering  fever  laid  him  aside  from  his  trade,  and 
he  amused  himself  with  some  theological  work, 
in  which  he  met  with  Hebrew  quotations.  This 
determined  him  to  become  a  scholar.  By  hard 
labour  he  became  able  to  read  Latin,  of  which 
he  had  known  something  when  a  child.  Then 
he  proceeded  to  Hebrew,  using  a  lexicon  in 
which  the  meanings  of  the  words  were  given  in 
Latin.  "  While  he  was  thus  engaged,  his  health 
gradually  improved,  and  he  was  enabled  to  return 
to  his  business ;  but  he  did  not,  for  all  that, 
neglect  his  studies.  After  working  all  day,  his 
general  practice  was  to  sit  up  reading  for  a  great 
part  of  the  night,  deeming  himself  far  more  than 

•  Pursuit  of  Knowledge,  vol,  i.  p.  352 
18* 


210  THE    AMERICAN   MECHANIC. 

compensated  for  his  labours  and  privations,  by 
obtaining,  even  at  this  sacrifice,  a  few  hours  every 
week  for  the  pursuit  he  loved  :  and  in  this  man- 
ner, within  seven  years,  he  had  actually  made 
himself  master  of  the  Latin,  Greek,  Hebrew, 
Chaldee,  Syriac,  Arabic,  and  Persian  languages. 
Yet  his  extraordinary  attainments  seem  not  to  have 
been  generally  known  till  a  fortunate  accident 
introduced  him  to  the  notice  of  Dean  Prideaux, 
a  distinguished  proficient  in  oriental  learning. 
Dr.  Prideaux  soon  after  exerted  himself  to  raise 
a  small  subscription  for  this  poor  and  meritorious 
scholar,  by  which  means  he  was  sent  to  Oxford, 
not  to  be  entered  at  the  University,  but  tliat  he 
might  have  access  to  the  libraries,  and  find  a 
more  appropriate  occupation  for  his  talents,  in 
teaching  those  oriental  tongues  with  which  he 
had  in  so  wonderful  a  manner  contrived  to  make 
himself  acquainted."  The  students  gave  him 
the  name  of  the  Arabian  tailor. 

My  readers  may  never  choose  to  become  great 
linguists ;  but  the  same  assiduity  will  have  the 
same  results  in  any  other  part  of  the  ample  field 
of  knowledge.  Nor  can  I  believe  that  these,  my 
hasty  recitals  of  such  facts,  can  altogether  fail  to 
dUt  up  some  aspiring  minds. 


THE    mechanic's   STUDIES.  211 

XXXV. 

THE   mechanic's    STUDIES. 

Encouragement  to  make  a  beginning, 

,  There  is  something  pleasant  in  the  anecdote 
which  Boswell  relates  concerning  Dr.  Johnson 
and  a  boy  who  rowed  him  down  the  Thames. 
The  two  friends  were  conversing  upon  the  use  of 
learning,  when  Johnson  said,  "  This  boy  row* 
us  as  well  without  learning,  as  if  he  could  sing  the 
song  of  Orpheus  to  the  Argonauts,  who  were  the 
first  sailors."  He  then  called  to  the  boy,  "  What 
would  you  give,  my  lad,  to  know  about  the  Ar- 
gonauts ?"  "  Sir,"  said  the  boy,  "  I  would  give 
what  I  have."  Johnson  was  much  pleased  with 
his  answer,  and  gave  him  a  double  fare.  Dr. 
Johnson  then  turned  to  his  companion  and  said, 
"  Sir,  the  desire  of  knowledge  is  the  natural  feel 
ing  of  mankind ;  and  every  human  being,  whose 
mind  is  not  debauched,  will  be  willing  to  give  all 
that  he  has  to  get  knowledge." 

This  truth  is  manifest,  and  I  am  persuaded  that 
many  thousands  of  working-men  would  be  en- 
gaged in  the  pursuit  of  knowledge,  if  it  were  not 


212  THE    AMERICAN   MECHANIC. 

for  their  ignorance  of  the  way  to  set  about  it, 
and  their  magnifying  the  difficulties  of  the  task. 
Hence  it  is  that  I  have  gone  to  what  some  may 
think  a  tedious  length  in  the  citation  of  examples, 
to  show  that  every  sort  of  obstacle  has  been  sur- 
mounted, and  every  sort  of  attainment  made,  by 
men  of  ordinary  talents.  In  considering  the 
cases  which  have  been  detailed,  you  will  find 
them  so  various,  that  the  individuals  have  nothing 
in  common  except  a  determination  to  learn. 
Where  this  exists,  the  man  will  succeed ;  no 
matter  what  method  he  takes.  The  Greek  pro- 
yerb  says,  Love  learning,  and  you  will  get  learn- 
ing. Set  about  it — at  once — at  any  subject — 
.with  any  book — and  you  will  not  fail.  Not  that 
I  would  undervalue  regular  system.  Method  is 
invaluable,  and  a  methodical  man  will  do  twice 
as  much  in  a  day  as  his  neighbour,  just  as  a  good 
packer  will  put  twiee  as  much  into  a  trunk.  Yet 
the  most  untoward  beginnings,  if  followed  up, 
will  end  in  something.  If  a  man  were  bent  upon 
clearing  a  certain  forest,  it  would  undoubtedly  be 
best  for  him  to  observe  some  order,  and  go  for- 
ward in  such  a  way  that  the  trees  should  not  fall 
over  each  other,  or  obstruct  his  road :  yet  if  he 
should  neglect  this,  and  begin  anywhere,  and 
work  in  any  way,  provided  he  continued  moving, 
he  could  not  fail  in  time  to  accomplish  his  work. 


THE    mechanic's    STUDIES.  213 

I  make  this  observation  for  the  encouragement  of 
those  who  are  disheartened  by  the  want  of  any 
directions,  and  by  ignorance  of  the  way  to  begin. 
The  ancients  tell  us  that  Cato  learned  Greek  in 
his  old  age.  Let  me  entreat  those  who  have 
passed  the  prime  of  life  without  much  education 
not  to  give  up  in  despair.  They  may  not  learn 
every  thing ;  but  they  may  learn  enough  to  shed  a 
serene  pleasure  around  their  declining  days.  I 
have  myself  had  pupils  in  spelling,  who  were 
nearly  seventy  years  of  age.  A  new  life  is  given 
by  education,  even  to  elderly  persons,  when  the 
imagination  and  the  heart  begin  to  be  cultivated, 
and  they  learn  to  extend  their  views  beyond  the 
little  circle  of  visible  objects.  "  In  such  men," 
says  Dugald  Stewart,  "  what  an  accession  is 
gained  by  their  most  refined  pleasures  !  What 
enchantments  are  added  to  their  most  ordinary 
perceptions  !  The  mind  awakening,  as  if  from  a 
trance  to  a  new  existence,  becomes  habituated  to 
the  most  interesting  aspects  of  life  and  of  nature : 
the  intellectual  eye  is  '  purged  of  its  film ;'  and 
things,  the  most  familiar  and  unnoticed,  disclose 
charms  invisible  before."  The  same  objects  and 
events  which  were  lately  beheld  with  indifference, 
occupy  now  all  the  powers  and  capacities  of  the 
soul — the  contrast  between  the  present  and  the 
past  serving  only  to  enhance  and  endear  so  un- 


214  THE    AMERICAN   MECHANIC. 

looked-for  an  acquisition.  What  Gray  has  so 
finely  said  of  the  pleasures  of  vicissitude,  con- 
veys but  a  faint  image  of  what  is  experienced  by 
the  man  who,  after  having  lost  in  vulgar  occupa- 
tions and  vulgar  amusements  his  earliest  and  most 
precious  years,  is  thus  introduced  at  last  to  a  new 
heaven  and  a  new  earth : 

The  meanest  floweret  of  the  vale, 
The  simplest  note  that  swells  the  gale. 
The  common  sun,  the  air,  the  skies, 
To  him  are  opening  Paradise." 

Fix  in  your  minds  the  maxim,  that  of  know- 
ledge, as  of  gold,  the  minutest  fragments  are 
valuable.  I  have  often  wished  that  Pope  had 
never  penned  that  much-abused  couplet : 

«  "A  little  knowledge  is  a  dangerous  thing, 

Jhink  deep,  or  taste  not  the  Pierian  spring." 
T  • '' '  • 

•ft  has  frightened  many  an  humble  pilgrim  from 
the  paths  of  science.  The  verses  contain  an  im- 
portant truth,  when  understood  in  their  connexion 
as  applicable  to  smatterers  in  classical  literature  ; 
but  in  their  vulgar  acceptation  they  are  false  and 
dangerous.  There  is  no  sense  in  which  a  little 
knoioledge  is  more  dangerous  than  a  little  of  any 
other  good  thing.  Great  knowledge  is  undoubt- 
edly better ;  but  even  a  grain  of  knowledge  is  good, 
80  far  as  it  goes.   A  few  moments'  reflection  will 


THE    mechanic's   STUDIES.  215 

set  any  man's  mind  at  rest  on  this  point.  You  are 
afraid  of  a  "little  knowledge  :"  but,  with  all  your 
fears,  you  already  possess  a  little.  Do  you  sup- 
pose that  you  are  the  worse  for  this  ?  Has  this 
little  proved  dangerous  ?  Small  as  it  is — are  you 
willing  to  lose  it  ?  Not  at  all.  If  a  little  know- 
ledge is  a  dangerous  thing,  (it  has  been  well  said,) 
TJiake  it  more. 

Where  the  avidity  for  information  is  great,  all 
such  apprehensions  will  vanish.  The  humblest 
attainments  will  have  their  value,  and  the  learner 
will  be  disposed  to  avail  himself  of  the  most 
trifling  accessions  to  his  stock.  Take  the  follow- 
ing authentic  statement,  made  by  one  whose  early 
education  had  been  neglected. 

"  My  boyhood  and  youth  are  now  over,  and,  in 
reviewing  my  past  career,  I  am  sensible  of  many 
errors  of  conduct,  and  many  omissions  of  the  duty 
which  each  man  owes  to  himself ;  but  in  advert- 
ing to  the  particular  period  I  have  mentioned,  I 
am  at  a  loss  to  perceive  how,  under  all  the  cir- 
cumstances, I  could  better  have  employed  the  un- 
controlled and  unguided  leisure  of  my  boyhood 
than  I  did.  During  this  period,  and  subsequently, 
in  the  intervals  of  manual  occupation,  I  read  witli 
eagerness  every  printed  thing  that  fell  in  my  way 
—from  the  placard  on  the  wall,  and  the  torn 
newspaper  gathered  from  the  street,  to  volumes 


216  THE    AMERICAN    MECHANIC. 

from  the  shelves  of  my  neighbours — and  from  the 
nursery-book  and  the  fairy-tale,  to  the  poetry  of 
Milton  and  the  metaphysics  of  Locke.  Thus,  in 
the  progress  of  years,  I  gathered  together  a  con- 
siderable quantity  of  general  knowledge,  mixed 
with  much  rubbish  and  unprofitable  matter.  I 
gathered  this  knowledge  together  in  solitude  and 
silence,  without  the  cognizance,  direction,  en- 
couragement, or  control  of  any  living  soul.  I 
was  even  stirred  by  reading  to  think  and  to  write 
for  myself ;  and  I  acquired  the  power  of  express- 
ing what  I  thought  or  wished  to  state,  just  as  I 
now  express  it  to  you." 

My  great  end  will  have  been  accomplished,  if 
I  can  lodge  deeply  in  the  reader's  mind  two  con- 
victions :  first,  that  knowledge  is  desirable ; 
secondly,  that  it  is  attainable.  He  who  has  re- 
ceived the  due  impression  of  these  two  truths, 
may  be  safely  left  to  himself.  In  my  next  I  shall 
attempt  to  give  a  few  useful  hints  in  regard  to  the 
pursuit  of  knowledge. 


THE    mechanic's   STUDIES.  817 


XXXVI 

THE   mechanic's    STUDIES. 
Hints  and  Directions. 

Let  not  the  reader  expect  too  much  from  this 
title  ;  for,  after  all,  the  ^and  direction  is,  try — 
TRY — TRY.  Yet  a  few  general  counsels  may 
prove  useful  to  such  as  are  entering  upon  an 
untried  way.  The  great  object  in  all  pursuit  of 
knowledge  is,  the  formation  of  habits  ;  and  the 
earlier  one  begins  to  form  good  habits  the  better. 
Therefore,  I  would  address  the  remarks  of  the 
present  paper  more  especially  to  apprentices  and 
young  journeymen ;  while,  at  the  same  time, 
they  have  an  application  to  working-men  of  any 
age,  who  are  addicting  themselves  to  study.  I 
will  now  proceed  to  offer  the  following  direc- 
tions. 

1.  Begin  at  once.  Do  not  put  off  your  learn- 
ing till  some  better  opportunity.  The  first  blow 
is  half  the  battle.  This  is  eminently  true  in  the 
matter  of  study.  There  is  always  a  difficulty  in 
beginning.  It  is  like  the  starting  of  a  car  on  the 
railway :  overcome  the  first  resistance,  and  the 
19 


218  THE    AMERICAN   MECHANIC. 

remaining  progress  is  easy.  It  might  take  a  little 
time  to  "  get  your  hand  in,"  but  not  so  long  as 
you  suppose.  Begin  from  this  very  day  ;  re- 
solve— as  you  now  sit  and  read  these  lines — that 
you  will  commence  the  work  of  self-improve- ' 
ment.  Take  time  by  the  forelock ;  or,  if  you 
have  already  lost  a  good  part  of  your  life,  ac- 
knowledge this  as  a  strong  reason  why  you 
should  husband  that  which  remains.  If  you  can 
only  bring  yourself  to  take  the  first  step,  there 
will  be  a  good  hope  of  your  continuance. 

2.  Learn  something  every  day.  If  you  read 
only  by  fits  and  starts,  you  will  probably  lose  a 
great  deal  in  the  intervals.  It  is  by  slight,  but 
perpetually  repeated  strokes,  that  the  iron  is 
wrought  into  shape.  Begin  every  morning  with 
the  inquiry,  "  What  can  I  add  to  my  stock  this 
day  ?"  In  this  respect,  act  with  regard  to  know- 
ledge, as  you  are  ready  enough  to  do  with  regard 
to  money.  We  are  all  wise  about  the  wealth  of 
the  world ;  but  learning  is  wealth.  I  could  take 
all  the  maxims  of  frugality,  and  show  how  they 
apply  to  the  accumulation  of  knowledge.  "A 
pin  a  day  is  a  groat  a  year."  Consider  no  day's 
work  as  complete,  unless  you  have  tried  to  learn 
something  useful. 

3.  Set  a  value  on  the  smallest  morsels  of 
knoivledge.     These  fragments  are  the  dust  of 


THE    MECHANIC  S    STUDIES.  219 

diamonds.  Of  these  fragments  the  mass  of  learn- 
ing is  composed.  "  It  is  true,"  as  Poor  Richard 
says,  "  there  is  much  to  be  done,  and  perhaps 
you  are  weak-handed;  but  stick  to  it  steadily, 
and  you  will  see  great  effects,  for  constant  drop- 
ping wears  away  stones ;  and  by  diligence  and 
patience  the  mouse  ate  in  two  the  cable ;  and 
litde  strokes  fell  great  oaks."  A  man  may  learn 
that  in  two  minutes  which  may  be  valuable  to 
him  all  his  life.  Even  if  you  see  no  use  in  the 
thing  learned,  do  not  despise  it.  Learn  all  that 
you  can,  and  you  will  live  to  see  its  value.  Never 
let  slip  an  opportunity  of  gaining  a  new  idea. 
And  remember  that  the  beginnings,  even  of  the 
most  sublime  sciences,  are  often  so  simple  as  to 
seem  worthless. 

4.  Redeem  time  for  study.  The  busiest 
workman  can  spare  some  moments.  If  you 
mean  to  get  wisdom,  you  must  learn  the  value  of 
moments.  Great  attainments  have  been  made  in 
these  little  snatches.  Whether  you  work  or  play, 
do  it  in  earnest ;  but  never  be  unemployed  an  in- 
stant. Unstable  and  indolent  people  lose  much 
of  life  in  thinking  what  they  shall  do  next.  Al- 
ways have  a  book  within  reach,  which  you  may 
catch  up  at  your  odd  minutes.  It  is  incredible, 
until  trial  has  been  made,  how  much  real  know- 
ledge may  be  acquired  in  these  broken  scraps  of 


220  THE    AMERICAN   MECHANIC. 

time.  Resolve  to  edge  in  a  little  reading  every 
Jay,  if  it  is  but  a  single  sentence.  The  man 
who  pursues  this  method  will  infallibly  become 
learned.  Take  a  little  time  for  reading  from  each 
end  of  your  night's  rest.  If  you  can  gain  fifteen 
minutes  a  day,  it  will  make  itself  felt  at  the  close 
of  the  year.  I  have  sometimes  thought  that  the 
mind  acts  with  double  vigour  when  forced  into 
these  brief  periods  of  application.  By  degrees, 
you  will  learn  to  save  moments  from  recreation, 
from  idle  talk,  and  even  from  work.  And  in  the 
long  winter  evenings,  you  will  certainly  be  inex- 
cusable, if  you  do  not  devote  an  hour  or  two  to 
your  books. 

5.  Regulate  your  thoughts  when  not  at 
study.  A  man  is  thinking  even  while  at  work  : 
why  may  he  not  be  thinking  about  what  is  use- 
ful ?  Study  is  intended  to  discipline  the  mind ;  let 
your  mind  be  kept  under  check  and  rein,  while 
your  hands  are  employed.  Revolve  in  your 
mind  what  you  have  last  been  reading.  Com- 
mit useful  things  to  your  memory,  and  turn  these 
over  in  your  thoughts,  while  you  ply  the  hammer 
or  the  wheel.  Remember  that  most  of  the  match- 
less effusions  of  Robert  Burns  were  conceived 
while  he  was  toiling  after  his  plough.  More- 
over, there  is  such  a  thing  as  study  without 
books.     Keep  your  mind  in  an  inquiring  mood, 


THE  mechanic's    STUDIES.  221 

and  you  cannot  be  in  any  situation  where  you 
may  not  be  learning. 

6.  Try  to  get  companions  in  learning.  Every 
one  has  felt  the  pleasure  and  profit  of  having  a 
companion  in  a  journey.  It  is  the  same  thing  in 
the  pursuit  of  knowledge.  The  way  is  thus 
made  lighter,  and  even  shorter.  If  you  have  no 
acquaintance  who  is  rightly  disposed,  seek  to  in- 
spire some  friend  with  the  desire  of  knowledge ; 
you  will  thus  be  benefiting  another  as  well  as 
yourself.  If  possible,  however,  attach  yourself 
to  one  who  is  somewhat  in  advance  of  you  ;  he 
will  be  a  sort  of  instructer  and  guide ;  and  this 
will  prove  a  great  saving  of  time  and  labour. 
Where  two  persons  are  engaged  in  the  same 
pursuits,  they  encourage  one  another,  and  find  a 
stimulus  in  the  little  amicable  rivalry  which  is 
awakened.  Above  all,  talk  with  some  companion, 
as  often  as  possible,  about  the  subject  of  your 
reading.  Conversation  about  what  we  study  is 
almost  as  useful  an  exercise  as  the  study  itself. 
Not  only  does  each  communicate  the  light  which 
he  has  gained  himself,  but  new  sparks  are  struck 
out  by  the  collision  of  mind  with  mind.  There 
will  be  also  an  exchange  of  books,  and  each  will 
alight  upon  plans  and  methods  which  might  not 
have  occurred  to  the  other. 

7.  Seek  the  advice  and  aid  of  some  »na»i  of 

19* 


222  THE    AMERICAN   MECHANIC. 

education.  This  is  not  indispensable,  but  highly 
to  be  desired.  In  travelling  an  intricate  road,  it  is 
well  to  be  guided  by  one  who  has  passed  it  before 
us.  I  am  sure  that  half  the  labour  of  a  lifetime 
may  be  saved  in  this  way.  There  is  scarcely 
any  man  of  real  learning  who  would  not  take 
pleasure  in  lending  a  helping  hand  to  a  beginner. 
Young  mechanics  are  too  diffident  in  this  matter. 
Any  young  man  who  has  difficulties  in  his  solitary 
studies,  may  feel  assured  that  he  will  be  welcomed 
oy  the  true  scholar  whom  he  goes  to  consult.  I 
cannot  call  to  mind  an  instance  in  which  applica- 
laons  of  this  kind  have  failed  to  give  pleasure. 
You  will  particularly  need  advice  about  the  books 
which  you  should  read.  There  are  elementary, 
or  first  books,  in  every  branch  of  knowledge.  If 
you  begin  with  one  of  these,  much  unnecessary 
trouble  will  be  avoided,  and  you  will  have  less 
need  of  a  teacher.  Get  from  your  most  approved 
adviser  a  list  of  such  books  as  you  should  from 
time  to  time  procure. 

8.  Lay  aside  a  little  money  for  books.  If 
you  love  learning,  I  need  not  say  a  word  about 
iJie  value  of  books.  A  little  economy  will  enable 
you  soon  to  have  a  little  collection  of  your  own. 
When  I  consider  how  much  is  squandered  by 
apprentices  upon  superfluous  dress,  trinkets, 
Jiorses  and  vehicles,  strong  drink,  tobacco  and 


THE    mechanic's    STUDIES  223- 

cigars,  I  see  at  once  a  fund  from  which  many  a 
little  library  might  be  founded. 

9.  Be  not  discouraged  by  the  seeming  slow- 
ness  of  your  progress.  All  progress  in  learning 
is  by  imperceptible  degrees.  You  cannot  see  the 
minute  hand  of  your  watch  move ;  yet  it  com- 
pletes its  circle  eight  thousand  seven  hundred  and 
sixty  times  every  year.  Call  to  mind  the  steps 
by  which  you  learned  your  trade  ;  in  any  given 
week  you  could  discern  no  advancement.  The 
growth  of  knowledge  is  like  the  growth  of  the 
body ;  you  do  not  feel  yourself  growing,  but 
you  know  that  you  have  grown,  by  comparison 
at  long  intervals.  Be  of  good  cheer,  delay  not, 
and  you  will  one  day  thank  me  for  my  counsels. 


224  THE    AMERICAN   MECHANIC. 

XXXVII. 

THE    mechanic's    STUDIES. 

'*'  Reading, 

Let  no  great  scholar  read  this  essay.  It  is 
meant  for  those  whose  education  has  been  neg- 
,ected,  and  who  are  willing  to  go  back  and  lay 
the  first  stone  of  the  structure.  The  subject  is, 
the  Art  of  Reading. 

If  our  system  of  popular  education  was  what 
It  ought  to  be,  no  boy  of  fourteen  would  be  put 
out  to  a  trade,  without  a  thorough  acquaintance 
with  reading,  writing,  arithmetic,  and  plain  com- 
position. If  parents  and  guardians  were  awake 
to  their  duty,  the  same  result  would  take  place. 
But  as  matters  now  stand,  it  is  an  undeniable 
truth,  that  not  more  than  half  our  young  appren- 
tices are  even  good  readers. 

Reading  is  rather  an  instrument  than  a  part  of 
education.  It  is  the  indispensable  key.  Many 
are  said  to  know  how  to  read,  who  still  find  the 
greatest  difficulty  in  picking  out  the  sense  of  a 
common  paragraph  in  the  newspapers.  Others 
can,  indeed,  spell  out  the  words,  but  the  effort  is 


THE    mechanic's    STUDIES.  225 

such  as  to  absorb  their  whole  minds,  and  to  leave 
them  scarcely  any  ability  to  catch  the  train  of 
ideas.  Now,  it  should  be  laid  down  as  a  prin- 
ciple, that  no  man  is  yet  a  reader,  who  has  not 
so  much  facility  that  he  never  considers  it  a  task, 
or  finds  any  more  labour  in  it  than  in  eating  his 
daily  food.  This  is  to  be  gained  only  by  con- 
stant practice. 

Again,  there  are  persons  who  take  pleasure  in 
the  solitary  and  silent  perusal  of  books,  while 
they  are  ashamed  or  afraid  to  read  aloud  for  the 
benefit  of  others.  Their  pronunciation  is  bar- 
barous ;  they  stammer,  and  hesitate,  and  miscall 
the  words ;  they  have  no  idea  of  giving  proper 
expression  to  what  they  utter.  They  are,  there- 
fore, unfit  to  teach  their  children,  or  even  to  en- 
tertain their  friends. 

The  proper  remedy  for  these  evils  is  to  be 
sought  in  careful  and  constant  practice ;  and 
especially  in  reading  aloud ;  which,  besides  being 
a  useful  accomplishment,  is  highly  advantageous 
to  the  health,  and  is  recommended  by  the  best 
physicians,  as  a  preservative  of  the  lungs.  All 
this  may  be  gained  without  any  self-denial,  by  the 
custom  of  reading  the  papers,  or  other  entertain- 
ing publications,  during  the  intervals  of  labour. 
This  is  an  advantage  possessed  by  mechanics 
whose  operations  are  sedentary  and  within  doors ; 


226  THE    AMERICAN    MECHANIC* 

and  this,  I  suppose,  will  go  far  to  account  for  the 
fact,  that  learned  men  have  so  frequently  pro- 
ceeded from  the  shops  of  tailors  and  shoemakers. 
(t  would  be  vain  for  the  bricklayer,  the  black- 
smith, or  the  ship-carpenter,  to  attempt  such  an  ' 
exercise,  amidst  the  clang  of  the  hammer  and  the 
adze ;  but  the  privilege  may  frequently  be  en- 
joyed by  the  saddler,  the  painter,  and  the  watch- 
maker. There  is  no  shop  in  which  there  is  not 
occasionally  an  individual  waiting  for  his  work, 
or  otherwise  unemployed.  In  such  cases,  how 
much  improvement  and  satisfaction  might  be  de- 
rived from  a  wise  economy  of  the  odd  minutes  ! 
The  case  of  Bloomfield,  already  mentioned,  may 
be  referred  to  as  an  illustration.  Even  the  little 
boys  of  the  family  might  sometimes  be  intro- 
duced for  the  same  purpose.  But,  as  my  pre- 
sent subject  is  improvement  in  reading,  nothing 
will  be  effectually  gained,  unless  the  person  who 
feels  his  deficiency  actually  practises  himself. 
And  here  let  me  earnestly  warn  every  young 
mechanic  against  that  wretched  and  ruinous  false- 
shame,  which  would  tempt  him  to  avoid  the 
means  of  learning,  for  the  sake  of  concealing  his 
ignorance.  However  gross  your  defects  may  be, 
do  not  scruple  to  make  them  known :  in  no  other 
way  can  they  be  supplied.  You  will  find  it  to 
have  been  the  invariable  practice  of  all  who  have 


THE  mechanic's  STUDIES.  227 

become  eminent,  to  confess  their  ignorance,  as 
the  first  step  towards  acquisition.  Every  man  is 
t  ignorant  of  something ;  but  it  is  the  part  of  the 
truly  wise  to  be  constantly  filling  up  these  vacan- 
cies, in  every  practicable  way. 

With  this  principle  in  view,  the  apprentice,  or 
the  journeyman,  or  even  the  master-mechanic, 
who  feels  the  shame  and  loss  of  ignorance,  will 
slight  no  methods  of  improvement.  If  he  can- 
not get  the  private  instruction  of  some  more 
gifted  friend,  he  will  seek  the  advantages  of  a 
night-school,  or  club  with  some  half  dozen  of  his 
acquaintances  to  secure  the  assistance  of  a  teacher 
for  an  hour  or  two  during  the  week.  As  I  have 
hinted,  there  is  but  a  small  proportion  of  our  work- 
ing-men who  can  be  called  good  readers  ;  and  yet 
there  is,  perhaps,  no  man  who,  during  the  course 
of  his  life,  is  not  placed  in  circumstances  where 
the  want  of  this  facility  is  the  source  of  loss  or 
mortification.  In  public  meetings  or  committees, 
the  routine  of  ordinary  business  often  demands  the 
reading  of  papers,  and  a  man  must  have  at  least 
forty  years  over  his  head  before  he  can  decline  the 
office  under  the  pretext  of  having  forgotten  his 
spectacles.  Most  of  all  is  this  element  of  educa- 
tion necessary  in  training  up  a  family  of  children. 
Even  if  a  man  can  contrive  to  get  through  the 
world  without  ever  reading  a  pleasant  anecdote 


2«8  THE    AMERICAN   MECHANIC. 

to  his  wife — ^how  is  it  possible  for  him  to  do  his 
part  by  his  children,  if  he  is  unable  either  to  in- 
struct them  by  books,  or  to  help  them  in  their 
tasks  ?  How  can  he  act  as  the  domestic  priest  and 
religious  head  of  his  household,  if  he  is  unfit  to 
read  with  them  a  chapter  in  the  Bible,  or  a  family 
prayer  ?  I  have  said  little  about  literal  and  abso- 
lute inability  to  read,  because  I  would  really 
flatter  myself  that  few  working-men  among  us 
are  in  this  sad  condition  ;  and  because  such  per- 
sons, by  the  very  supposition,  are  out  of  the 
reach  of  my  essays :  but  more  is  needed  than  what 
IS  called  reading  in  our  hedge-schools ;  and  which 
often  partakes  more  of  the  qualities  of  whining, 
snuffling,  and  singing,  than  of  human  elocution. 
If  then,  among  the  readers  of  this  volume,  there 
should  happen  to  be  even  one,  who,  after  spell- 
ing out  my  meaning,  has  been  made  sensible  of 
his  neglects,  and  desirous  of  redeeming  lost  time, 
let  me  affectionately  clap  him  on  the  shoulder 
by  way  of  encouragement :  my  good  fellow,  it  is 
never  too  late  to  learn  ! 

Such  is  the  benignity  of  Providence,  that  the 
things  which  are  most  necessary  are  most  acces- 
sible. Among  all  human  arts,  there  is  none 
more  rich  in  its  fruits  than  the  art  of  reading ; 
and  there  is  none  mora  easily  acquired.  Resolve 
to  make  up  for  lost  time ;  acknowledge  your  im- 


THE    MECHAXIC'S    STUDIES.  229 

perfections  ;  begin  in  the  right  way,  and  you  will 
assuredly  succeed 

Without  such  facility  in  reading  as  may  allow 
the  mind  to  follow  without  distraction  the  cur- 
rent of  an  author's  thought,  there  can  be  no  real 
pleasure  in  the  exercise.  And  where  there  is  no 
taste  for  reading,  a  man's  school-learning  is  of 
little  value.  How  many  are  there  who  have  gone 
to  school,  and  have  books  in  their  houses,  who 
yet  are  making  no  improvement  in  knowledge ! 
If,  for  form's  sake,  they  open  a  volume  and  turn 
over  the  leaves,  you  see  by  the  vacant  eye  and 
sleepy  countenance  that  they  have  no  pleasure  in 
it.  The  task  is  heavy  ;  and  after  a  few  yawns, 
and  perhaps  nods,  they  lay  the  book  aside,  or  let 
it  drop,  to  find  more  congenial  satisfaction  in  the 
arm-chair  or  the  pipe.  On  the  other  hand,  if 
you  read  with  ease,  you  will  read  with  pleasure, 
and  will  have  opened  to  you  the  door  of  imi- 
Yersal  knowledge.  As  Edmund  Stone  said  to 
the  Duke  of  Argyle :  "  It  seems  to  me  that  we 
may  know  every  thing,  when  we  know  how  to 
read.  Does  one  need  to  know  any  thing  more 
than  the  twenty-four  letters,  to  learn  every  thing 
else  that  one  wishes  ?" 

20 

.3 


230  THE   AMERICAN    MECHANIC. 


XXXVIII. 

THE    mechanic's    STUDIES. 
Writing. 

By  working  so  long  under  ground,  among  the 
rude  foundations,  I  am  likely  to  deter  from  the 
perusal  of  these  essays  all  who  think  .themselves 
already  well-informed.  Such  an  effect  will  give 
me  no  concern,  as  I  shall  be  the  better  able  to  lay 
a  broad  and  solid  basis  for  the  structure,  without 
the  interference  of  critical  or  conceited  meddlers. 
My  business  lies  with  the  working-man,  and  most 
of  all  with  him  who  frankly  owns  that  he  knows 
but  little,  and  would  fain  know  more.  My  heart 
warms  at  even  the  remote  probability  that  these 
lines,  penned  in  solitude,  and  often  in  weakness 
and  pain,  may  prove  a  guiding  light  to  one  or  two 
of  my  industrious  fellow-citizens.  But  lest  I  wax 
sentimental,  let  me  proceed  to  the  .drt  of  Wan- 
ting. 

I  now  use  the  term  writing  in  a  wide  sense, 
including  orthography,  or  what  is  commonly 
called  spelling,  because  our  proficiency  in  this  is 
evinced  only  in  what  we  write ;  and  plain  com 


THE    mechanic's    STUDIES.  231 

position  i  but  for  which  the  mere  manual  dex- 
terity is  of  little  account. 

One  might  readily  suppose  that  every  me- 
chanic and  tradesman  Avould  be  desirous  to  write 
a  fair  and  legible  hand.  The  clergyman,  the 
professor,  or  the  man  of  wealth,  may  scrawl 
the  vilest  pot-hooks  and  hieroglyphics,  and  yet 
manage  to  avoid  exposure  ;  but  the  working-man 
has  his  books  to  keep  and  his  accounts  to  render. 
His  writing  is  therefore  seen  by  hundreds ;  and 
we  are  all  very  apt  to  form  some  notion  of  a  man's 
neatness  and  general  improvement  from  the  way 
in  which  he  handles  his  pen.  It  is  needless  to 
say  'that  not  one  in  fifty  possesses  this  accom- 
plishment. Alas  for  our  common  schools  !  Alas 
for  the  indolence  and  indifference  of  our  young 
men  !  I  will  not  dwell  long  on  this  part  of  the 
subject,  but  I  do  seriously  maintain,  that  every 
man  who  has  his  complement  of  fingers,  and  re- 
solution to  begin  at  the  beginning,  and  set  him- 
self regular  copies,  may  attain  to  a  decent,  clear, 
and  intelligible  hand.  And,  by  so  doing,  many  a 
man  might  avoid  the  mortification  which  has  been 
known  to  ensue  upon  the  exhibition  of  a  day- 
book in  a  court  of  justice.  In  order  to  write 
well,  one  must  have  so  far  mastered  the  manual 
operation  as  to  write  with  some  pleasure.  If  our 
schools  were  what  they  should  be,  this  matter 


232  THE    AMERICAN    MECHANIC. 

would  be  secured  before  boys  enter  upon  their 
apprenticeship.  At  present,  I  dare  say  there  are 
not  a  few  mechanics  who  find  less  trouble  in  the 
manufacture  of  a  table  or  a  boat,  than  in  drawing 
ofl'  a  fair  copy  of  a  bill. 

But  suppose  the  mere  handwriting  to  be  unex 
ceptionable,  there  is  another  matter  which  is  quite 
as  important,  namely  the  art  of  spelling.  So  far 
as  my  observation  goes,  orthography  is  never 
adequately  learned  without  the  practice  of  writing. 
It  is  one  thing  to  get  by  rote  endless  columns  of 
words  in  a  spelling-book,  and  another  thing  to 
take  a  pen  and  write  off  the  same  words  promptly 
and  accurately.  I  could  show  laughable  speci- 
mens from  my  files  of  accounts,  and  I  presume 
every  reader  can  do  the  like.  This  evil  often  be- 
trays itself  in  a  way  somewhat  mortifying,  when 
a  man  rises  in  the  world,  and  is  invested  with 
public  office.  There  is  within  my  knowledge  a 
very  worthy  personage,  a  justice  of  the  peace, 
whose  records  of  evidence  are  among  the  rarest 
curiosities  in  the  collections  of  the  lawyers  who 
have  made  them  laughing-stocks.  Some  ten  or 
twelve  years  since,  I  visited  a  hall  of  legislation 
not  a  thousand  miles  from  our  state  capital.  The 
barrier  between  the  dignitaries  and  their  consti- 
tuents had  not  then  been  elevated  so  as  to  shut 
out  the  pragmatical  glances  of  saucy  observers ; 


THE    mechanic's    STUDIES.  23$  ' 

and  as  I  leaned  over  the  railing,  just  behind  a 
portly  legislator,  my  eye  undesignedly  fell  on 
the  engrossed  title  of  a  bill,  the  topmost  in  the 
little  tape-tied  parcel  on  the  assembly-man's 
desk.  He  had  intended  to  entitle  it  "  Bill  con- 
cerning Horse-racing — postponed/'  Instead  of 
this,  I  beheld,  in  a  very  legible  copyhand,  the 
following  words— 

Bill  against  hors  rassing—- 
posponded. 

Those  who  are  willing  to  mend  their  ways  in 
this  particular,  should  furnish  themselves  with  a 
good  copy  of  Johnson's  or  Walker's  Dictionary ; 
they  should  consult  this  whenever  they  are  in 
doubt ;  and  they  should  cherish  their  doubts,  in 
order  to  secure  themselves  against  that  blindness 
to  their  own  errors,  into  which  every  man  is 
tempted  to  fall. 

Yet  all  this  is  merely  instrumental,  and  in  order 
to  something  beyond  itself.  Under  writing  I  in- 
clude plain  composition,  but  for  the  sake  of 
which  a  man  might  safely  be  ignorant  of  pen  and 
ink.  Let  me  distinctly  say  that  I  am  far  from 
summoning  the  young  mechanic  to  attempt  any 
thing  like  authorship,  or  even  elegant  coraposi 
tion.  But  it  is  certainly  desirable  that  every  one 
should  have  the  ability  to  sit  down,  and  without 
SO 


234  THE   AMERICAN   MECHANIC. 

hesitation  or  embarrassment,  express  with  his 
pen  such  things  as  he  daily  has  to  express  with 
his  voice.  He  should  know  how  to  write  a  de- 
cent letter,  not  merely  in  a  fair  hand  and  correct 
spelling,  but  without  grammatical  blunders  or  awk- 
ward construction.  Every  man  who  has  friends 
or  customers  will  sometimes  need  to  write  a 
Dusiness  letter ;  and  weighty  interests  may  some- 
times depend  on  the  manner  in  which  this  is 
done.  And  any  man  who  can  pen  a  creditable 
letter,  without  vulgarity  or  affectation,  will  be  in 
the  same  degree  able  to  prepare  a  resolution  at 
a  public  meeting,  to  draft  the  report  of  a  com- 
mittee, or  to  compose  a  memorial.  Where  is  the 
American  freeman  who  is  not  liable  to  be  called  to 
some  such  service  ?  This  is  a  branch  of  educa- 
tion which  should  be  taught  in  every  common 
school ;  and  if  it  has  been  neglected,  he  who  is 
sensible  of  his  defect  should  spare  no  pains  to 
repair  it. 


THE    mechanic's    STUDIES.  235 

i4f 


XXXIX. 

THE    mechanic's    STUDIES. 

Grammar. 

If  there  is  any  one  thing  which  more  than  all 
others  distinguishes  the  improved  from  the  unim- 
proved man,  it  is  the  manner  in  which  he  uses  his 
mother  tongue.  Apparel  does  not  form  such  a 
distinction,  for  the  richest  dress  is  often  the 
disguise  of  the  simpleton.  Big  words  and  lofty 
periods  are  so  far  from  designating  the  man  of  in- 
formation, that  they  are  most  common  with  the 
smatterer  and  the  pedant.  But  perfectly  gram- 
matical English  is  the  infallible  countersign  of  an 
educated  mind.  It  is  too  late  to  attempt  the  cure 
of  a  bad  habit  in  regard  to  language,  when  one 
has  passed  his  prime ;  this  subject  is  therefore 
important  to  young  men.  Your  business  may 
prosper ;  your  wealth  may  increase  ;  you  may  live 
in  splendour,  and  imitate  the  manners  of  the 
great ;  you  may  even  grow  purse-proud  and  scorn 
your  former  associates ;  but  all  this  will  be  in  vain 
if  you  cannot  open  your  lips  without  breaking 


236  THE    AMERICAN    MECHANIC. 

"  Priscian's  head."     Your  grandeur  will  be  only 
a  costly  frame  for  a  show  of  ignorance. 

It  is  not  by  merely  committing  to  memory 
pages  of  rules,  however  excellent,  that  any  one 
becomes  a  grammarian.  Many  persons  are  able 
to  repeat  dozens  of  rules,  which  they  break  even 
while  they  are  talking  of  them.  The  best  method 
of  gaining  the  desired  accuracy,  is  to  converse 
with  those  who  never  blunder  in  their  English : 
thus  the  children  of  educated  men  come  to  speak 
correctly,  even  before  they  have  learned  a  word 
of  the  book.  The  next  best  method  is  to  seek 
with  care  the  discovery  of  all  your  common 
errors.  If  it  were  not  for  false  shame — the  great- 
est bane  of  self-instruction — this  might  soon  be 
accomplished.  Nothing  is  necessary  but  to  ask 
some  literary  friend  to  point  out  to  you  every  case 
in  which  you  trip.  And  this  will  soon  prove 
effectual :  for,  be  it  observed,  solecisms,  or 
grammatical  mistakes,  are  of  such  a  nature,  that 
if  a  man  makes  them  at  all,  he  will  make  them 
repeatedly.  You  may  be  assured,  that  in  three 
or  four  conversations  of  an  hour's  length,  you  will 
be  likely  to  fall  into  every  error  of  this  kind  to 
which  you  are  liable.  I  have  friends  who  are 
men  of  sense  and  knowledge,  but  whose  sad 
breaches  of  grammatical  propriety  expose  them 
to  ridicule.     How  often  have  I  wished  that  their 


THE    mechanic's    STUDIES.  237 

feelings  would  allow  me  to  show  them  the  cases 
in  which  they  offend  !  In  a  fortnight,  I  feei  per- 
suaded, they  might  succeed  in  freeing  themselves 
from  this  blemish  forever. 

But  supposing  that  only  such  as  have  a  very 
strong  purpose  to  excel,  and  some  elevation  of 
mind,  will  avail  themselves  of  the  foregoing  hint, 
I  would  propose,  as  an  alternative,  the  use  of  a 
good  grammar;  which,  indeed,  ought  not  to  be 
neglected  in  any  case.  In  the  choice  of  a  gram- 
mar, we  should  be  regulated,  not  by  the  transient 
popularity  of  some  late  production,  but  by  the 
solid  judgment  of  literary  men  in  the  mother 
country  as  well  as  in  America.  We  speak  the 
blessed  tongue  of  good  old  England :  may  we 
ever  continue  to  be  one  in  language.  The  books 
of  worthy  Lindley  Murray  are  still  unsurpassed, 
so  far  as  principles  are  concerned  ;  and  any  man 
will  be  safe  who  frames  his  diction  after  the 
guidance  of  this  gentle  Anglo-American  Quaker. 

It  must  be  observed,  however,  that  the  portion 
of  any  grammar  which  is  of  most  value  to  one 
who  is  to  be  his  own  instructer,  is  that  which 
consists  of  exercises.  Here  you  will  find  spe- 
cimens of  every  sort  of  error,  and  in  reading  them 
you  will  descry  many  an  old  acquaintance.  Care- 
fully and  repeatedly  write  these  off  in  their  cor- 


238  THE    AMERICAN    MECHANIC. 

rect  form.  There  is  no  surer  way  of  detecting 
and  weeding  out  your  ungraramatical  expressions. 
Examine  a  list  of  erroneous  phrases,  and  you  will 
find  many  such  as  these,  which  perhaps  have 
escaped  from  your  own  lips  in  earlier  days,  viz  : 
"  I  seen  John  when  he  done  it."  "  He  plead  not 
guilty."  "  He  writes  like  I  do."  "  He  is  con- 
siderable of  a  scholar."  "  I  telled  him  that  he 
drink\l  too  much."  "  The  carriage  or  the  sleigh 
were  sent."  "  You  hadn't  ought  to  have  come," 
&c.  But  I  am  almost  ashamed  to  have  inserted 
even  these :  in  Dr.  Bullions'  grammar  you  will  find 
pages  of  such  blunders  exposed  and  corrected. 

There  is  another  class  of  expressions  which 
offend,  not  so  exactly  against  grammar,  as  against 
purity  and  propriety  of  language.  Lists  of  these 
have  been  made  out  by  Pickering  and  other 
eminent  scholars  ;  but  still  they  are  used  by  news- 
paper editors  and  certain  members  of  congress. 
For  example :  "  /  calculate  to  leave  Boston." 
'•  He  conducts  well."  '*  I  expect  he  was  there." 
"  The  event  transpired,  (that  is  '  occurred,')  on 
Friday."  "  The  bill  was  predicated  on  these 
facts."  "  An  article  over  the  signature  of  Cato." 
"  James  went  up  on  to  the  ship."  "  I  was  raised 
in  Kentucky."  "  He  is  an  ugly  man,"  mean- 
ing an  ill-tempered  man.     "  He  has  too  much 


THE    MECHANIC'S    STUDIES.  239 

temper;''''  using  the  word  in  a  bad  sense,  whereas 
in  sound  English  it  always  has  a  good  one. 

There  is  a  single  caution  which  it  may  be  use- 
ful to  add :  there  is  such  a  thing  as  overstraining 
grammar.  There  are  those  who  make  efforts  so 
strenuous,  as  to  fall  over  upon  the  other  side.  I 
can  scarcely  suppose  that  my  reader  could  so  far 
mistake  as  to  say  "  Charles  and  me  went  to  New 
York  ;"  yet  I  have  heard  even  ladies  and  gentle- 
men uttering  as  great  a  solecism,  by  saying,  "  He 
gave  the  books  to  Charles  and  /."  Not  quite  so 
bad  is  the  obsolete  participle  "gotten'''  for  "gotj^^ 
a  nicety  in  going  backwards  which  prevails 
chiefly  among  elderly  ladies.  Every  one  has 
heard  physicians  speak  of  "  three  spoonsfull," 
instead  of  "  three  spoonfuls  }"  though  the  same 
persons  would  scruple  to  say  "  three  cartsload'* 
for  "  three  cartloads  "  or  "  three  mouthsfulV^ 
for  "  three  mouthfuls."  In  fact,  different  ideas 
are  conveyed  by  the  two  phrases.  So,  likewise, 
a  certain  class  of  affected  smatterers  use  this 
form — "  The  house  is  being  built.''''  In  good 
English  there  is  no  such  participle  as  being  built 
in  this  sense.  No  example  can  be  found  in  the 
British  classics.  A  learned  writer  judiciously 
observes  :  "  If  the  expression  is  being  built  be  a 
correct  form  of  the  present  indicative  passive, 


240  THE    AMERICAN   MECHANIC. 

then  it  must  be  equally  correct  to  say  in  the  pre- 
sent-perfect, has  been  being  built;  in  the  past- 
perfect,  had  been  being  built ;  and  in  the  present 
participle  being  being  built."  Enough  of  this.  I 
now  close  this  dry  communication,  hoping,  after 
one  more  essay,  to  recover  a  more  sprightly 
strain. 


THE    mechanic's   STUDIES.  241 


XL. 

THE   mechanic's    STUDIES. 
Arithmetic  and  Jlccounis. 

If  there  is  any  part  of  science  which  is  Indis- 
pensable to  mechanics  in  common  with  other 
men  in  business,  it  is  that  which  forms  the  sub- 
ject of  this  paper.  Every  tradesman  is  supposed 
to  keep  regular  accounts,  and  as  his  affairs  be- 
come more  extended,  these  become  more  com- 
plicated. If  we  could  look  into  the  secret  causes 
of  the  numerous  bankruptcies  which  occur,  we 
should  find  a  large  proportion  of  them  to  have 
their  origin  in  a  defect  just  here.  The  appren- 
tice is  left  to  grow  up  without  adequate  instruc- 
tion. He  learns  his  trade,  it  may  be,  but  he 
learns  nothing  more.  He  becomes  a  journey- 
man, and  finds  here  no  inducement  to  supply  his 
deficiencies.  In  due  course  of  time  he  sets  up 
for  himself,  and  then  discovers,  much  too  late, 
that  there  are  difficulties  and  perplexities,  even 
in  the  most  ordinary  routine  of  business,  for 
which  he  is  altogether  unprepared. 

Men  could  be  named  who  have  to  study  an 
21 


242  THE    AMERICAN    MECHANIC. 

hour  before  they  can  foot  up  the  amount  of  a 
customer's  bill  for  a  few  dollars ;  and  the  simplest 
questions  in  interest  or  discount,  which  have,  un- 
happily, become  every-day  transactions  among 
us,  are  to  them  mysteries  altogether  past  com- 
prehension. No  person  can  be  considered  fit  for 
the  management  of  any  lucrative  and  flourishing 
enterprise,  who  is  not  able,  whenever  it  is  neces- 
sary, to  arrive  at  a  clear  view  of  his  liabilities 
and  resources,  a  fair  balance  per  contra  of  his 
whole  affairs.  And,  for  safety  and  comfort,  this 
is  an  operation  which  should  frequently  take 
place.  Next  to  a  good  conscience,  it  is  desirable 
for  every  mechanic  to  have  a  good  leger.  Now, 
if  the  very  sight  of  his  books  gives  him  the  hor- 
rors, and  if  he  would  rather  work  a  week  than 
spend  half  a  day  over  his  desk  of  accounts,  it  is 
very  plain  that  he  will  be  likely  to  neglect  this 
irksome  and  distasteful  business.  Consequently, 
he  will  scarcely  ever  know  where  he  stands ;  he 
will  put  off"  the  evil  day  of  balancing  his  accounts, 
until  it  is  forced  upon  him  by  some  unexpected 
entanglement;  and  then,  perhaps,  he  will  be 
astounded  at  the  discovery  that  he  is  really 
worth  less  than  nothing. 

Under  the  old-time  hard-money  system,  there 
was  less  danger  of  such  an  issue,  and  a  small 
tradesman   might  balance  accounts  between  his 


THE    mechanic's    STUDIES.  243 

right  and  left  breeches-pockets.  But  the  intro- 
duction of  a  more  remote  representative  of  value 
than  coin,  or  even  bank-notes,  has  totally  changed 
the  situation  of  the  trader.  He  cannot,  by  a  mere 
inventory  of  his  stock,  or  a  glance  at  his  strong- 
box and  his  bank-book,  determine  how  he  stands 
related  to  the  great  system  of  credit.  The  only 
index  of  this  is  found  in  his  accounts.  It  is 
only  in  his  accounts  that  he  can  assure  himself 
that  his  house  and  stock  are  not  his  neighbour's. 
And  if  the  said  accounts  have  been  suffered  to  go 
at  sixes  and  sevens,  it  is  plain  that  his  knowledge 
of  his  own  condition  is  no  more  than  a  shrewd 
^ess. 

I  seriously  believe  that  this  is  the  actual  con- 
dition of  more  than  half  the  mechanics  in  the 
land :  and  it  is  an  evil  daily  increasing  with  the 
recklessness  of  our  speculations.  The  poor  man 
drives  on  through  thick  and  thin.  The  American 
motto,  Go  ahead,  is  written  on  his  equipage.  He 
flies  over  plain  and  valley,  till  at  last,  discovering 
that  he  is  going  down  hill  with  perilous  speed, 
he  begins  to  think  of  putting  on  the  drag,  and 
moderating  his  rate  of  travel,  when,  all  at  once, 
he  is  cast  over  the  precipice  and  dashed  to  pieces. 

I  have  endeavoured  to  pen  all  my  advices  to 
mechanics,  in  full  view  of  the  remarkable  fact, 
that  in  America  the  way  is  open  for  the  humblest 


244  THE    AMERICAN   MECHANIC. 

working-man,  by  industry  and  enterprise,  to  be- 
come the  head  of  a  large  establishment.  Our 
greatest  manufacturers  are  those  who  began  life 
by  hammering  at  little  jobs.  But  consider,  I 
pray  you,  how  intricate  and  extensive  are  the  ac- 
counts of  one  of  these  great  concerns.  Is  it  pos- 
sible for  a  man  to  conduct  such  a  business  with 
the  ordinary  amount  of  knowledge  in  figures  and 
book-keeping  ?  Can  he  safely  rely  on  the  aids 
of  mere  clerks  or  hired  accountants  ?  It  is  true 
that  many  men,  under  the  strong  incitements  of 
expected  gain,  meet  the  demands  of  their  circum- 
stances, and  even  late  in  life  make  themselves 
thoroughly  acquainted  with  every  detail  of  busi- 
ness ;  and  these  are  the  men  who  become  wealthy, 
and  continue  so.  But  there  are  many  more  who 
never  comprehend  the  calculations  upon  which 
their  very  gains  are  hinged ;  and  these  are  the 
men  who  fail  by  scores  even  in  the  best  of  times. 
Prevention  is  better  than  cure:  the  twig  is 
bent  more  easily  than  the  tree.  Begin  to  get 
the  mastery  of  these  things  in  your  youth,  and 
you  will  smooth  your  way  for  life.  Labour,  by 
constantly  repeated  practice,  at  the  operations  of 
common  arithmetic.  Repeat  every  sort  of  ex- 
ample in  the  four  fundamental  rules,  and  in  pro- 
portion, until  you  not  merely  understand  them, 
but  are  prompt  and  expert  in  them,  and  you  will 


THE    mechanic's    STUDIES.  245 

find  the  advantage  of  it  every  day  that  you  live. 
Besides  this,  take  the  pains,  under  some  good 
accountant,  to  become  familiar  with  book-keeping. 
The  mechanic  has  to  keep  his  books,  as  well  as 
the  merchant.  However  small  your  business,  it 
is  best  to  do  it  in  the  right  way,  for  then  you  will 
have  nothing  to  unlearn  when  it  becomes  large. 
I  believe  it  will  be  found  that  nine  men  out  of 
every  ten  go  through  life  with  the  methods  which 
they  adopted  at  the  start.  In  other  words,  most 
mechanics  pursue  a  method  of  book-keeping  in- 
vented by  themselves.  This  is  to  reject  all  the 
lights  derived  from  the  mercantile  experience  of 
ages.  Scientific  book-keeping  is  a  time-saving, 
labour-saving,  and  money-saving  contrivance ; 
and  you  will  find  a  few  dollars  laid  out  in  ac- 
quiring it,  as  little  lost  as  the  grain  of  com  which 
you  drop  in  the  earth. 

Let  me  close  with  a  single  question :  At  what 
period  of  life  do  our  mechanics  learn  the  keep- 
ing of  accounts  ?  Is  it  when  they  are  appren- 
tices ?  I  have  never  known  a  master-workman 
to  give  any  lessons  of  this  kind.  Is  it  when  they 
are  journeymen  ?  Our  journeymen  are  glad  to 
earn  and  to  spend  money,  but  they  keep  few  ac- 
counts. No :  the  little  they  half  learn  is  taught 
them  by  the  sad  experience  of  actual  business 
21* 


246  THE    AMERICAN   MECHANIC. 

XLI. 

THE    mechanic's   STUDIES. 
History. 

The  study  of  history  has  commended  itself 
to  considerate  men  of  all  ages,  perhaps  more 
generally  than  any  branch  of  intellectual  pursuit. 
Holding  a  middle  place  between  mere  entertain- 
ment and  abstruse  research,  it  has  allured  into  its 
wide  and  variegated  fields  the  curious  and  the 
reflecting  of  every  different  walk  in  life.  And 
this  is  reasonable  and  easy  of  explanation.  Often 
has  it  been  said,  till  the  sentence  has  grown  into 
a  proverb,  that  "  history  is  philosophy  teaching 
by  example."  Often  have  the  words  of  the  Ro- 
man orator  been  reiterated,  that  "  not  to  know 
what  happened  before  one  was  born,  is  to  be 
always  a  child."  If  our  great  statesmen  could 
be  fairly  questioned,  it  would  be  found  that  they 
have  gained  more  concerning  the  principles  of 
government  from  the  story  of  former  times, 
than  from  all  their  perusal  of  abstract  treatises. 

The  American  mechanic  is  a  freeman ;  he  is 
one  of  that  people  to  whom  we  ascribe  sove- 


THE    mechanic's    STUDIES.  247 

reignty.  If  independent  in  his  way  of  thinking, 
he  must  needs  be,  to  a  certain  extent,  a  politician. 
In  point  of  fact,  all  men,  of  all  vocations,  in  this 
country,  undertake  to  talk  about  the  measures  of 
government,  and  to  give  some  reason  for  their 
party-attachments  and  their  votes.  Here  we 
find  a  good  argument  for  the  study  of  history 
by  working-men. 

But  to  this  we  must  add  other  signal  and 
acknowledged  benefits,  which  flow  from  historical 
reading,  whenever  and  by  whomsoever  pursued. 
It  enlarges  our  knowledge  of  the  world,  and  gives 
new  views  of  human  manners ;  it  lifts  us  above 
the  petty  circle  of  our  city  or  our  state,  and 
brings  us  into  a  felt  relation  to  the  great  system 
of  events  ;  it  affords  a  lively  commentary  on  the 
happy  or  baneful  tendencies  of  virtue  and  vice  ; 
and  it  displays  in  the  most  striking  manner  the 
wise  and  wonderful  plans  of  Divine  Providence. 

Before  the  unhappy  multiplication  of  novels 
and  romances,  young  men  sought  their  chief 
mental  refreshment  in  historical  reading ;  and 
there  is  cause  for  believing  that  by  reason  of  this 
difference,  the  rising  race  is  likely  to  be  less  ac- 
quainted with  past  events  than  their  fathers  were. 
A  morbid  taste  for  the  excitements  of  romantic 
fiction  has  depraved  many  a  mind,  and  in  some 
measure  placed  history  nearer  than  it  once  stood 


248  THE    AMERICAN   MECHANIC. 

to  what  are  considered  severe  studies.  Never- 
theless, after  having  dreamed  away  golden  hours 
over  scores  of  novels,  I  am  confident  hx  saying, 
that,  in  the  long  run,  history  is  more  entertaining 
than  romance.  Truth,  it  has  been  said,  is  more 
interesting  than  fiction ;  and  the  more  a  man  ex- 
tends his  reading,  the  deeper  will  be  his  convic- 
tion of  this  truth.  Few  men  could  spend  a  week 
m  reading  novels,  and  nothing  else ;  but  many 
men  spend  delightful  months  upon  the  annals  of 
great  events.  It  is  an  unconscious  homage  to 
this  quality  of  authentic  narrative,  that  some  of 
our  greatest  novelists  have  chosen  to  interweave 
the  events  of  true  history  in  their  most  success- 
ful romances. 

No  patriotic  American  would  willingly  confess 
that  he  does  not  feel  his  soul  more  stirred  by  the 
unvarnished  tale  of  revolutionary  conflict,  than 
by  the  exciting  scenes  of  any  fiction  whatever ; 
and  the  wonderful,  unexpected,  and  rapid  changes 
and  convulsions  of  the  French  revolution,  reach 
the  passions  with  a  mightier  influence  than  all 
the  feigned  terrors  of  the  tragic  muse. 

As  we  extend  our  reading  of  history,  this  in- 
terest, far  from  decreasing,  grows  exceedingly  in 
strength ;  so  that  there  is  no  branch  of  study 
which  so  uniformly  gams  upon  the  affections  of 
its  votaries      In  the  field  of  romance,  the  facti- 


THE    MECHANIC  8    STUDIES.  249 

tious  emotion  becomes  dull  and  dies  away ;  but 
in  historical  researches,  the  studies  of  our  youth 
continue  to  be  the  solace  even  of  our  old  age. 

It  will  be  suitable  for  me  to  add  a  few  sugges- 
tions as  to  the  method  in  which  history  may 
be  advantageously  studied ;  and  these  shall  be 
adapted  to  the  case  of  such  as  are  not  surrounded 
by  copious  libraries. 

First,  Let  it  be  observed,  that  no  man  in  one 
lifetime  can  read  all  history ;  and  that  it  is  alto- 
gether undesirable  to  attempt  any  thing  like  this. 
Consequently,  every  thing  depends  upon  wise 
selection,  both  as  to  subjects  and  authors.  All 
history  is  not  equally  valuable  to  all ;  and  time 
may  be  deplorably  wasted  over  an  annalist  who 
is  inaccurate,  prolix,  or  obscure. 

Secondly,  Method  is  as  important  here  as  any- 
where. By  method  in  history,  I  simply  mean 
"  beginning  at  the  beginning."  Experience  as- 
sures me  that  half  our  labour  would  be  saved,  if 
we  would  cross  the  stream  nearer  to  its  source, 
or  assault  the  tree  nearer  to  its  root.  My  grand 
counsel,  then,  is  this :  Begin  with  generals,  and 
from  these  descend  to  particulars.  Proceed  as 
the  draughtsman  does ;  first  sketch  a  rapid  out- 
line, then  fill  in  the  minuter  touches,  and  at 
length,  if  time  permit,  add  the  more  delicate 
lights  and  shades.     Or,  in  still  plainer  terms, 


250  THE    AMERICAN   MECHANIC. 

begin  with  some  very  brief  and  compendious, 
but  clear  and  masterly  view  of  general  history ; 
such  an  aid  we  have  in  two  invaluable  and  well- 
known  works  of  Tytler.  A  good  chronological 
chart  would  afford  an  outline  still  more  general. 
Then  proceed  to  gain  a  more  familiar  acquaint- 
ance, first  with  ancient,  and  afterwards  with 
modern  history. 

Thirdly,  Beware  of  the  false  supposition,  that 
every  part  of  your  picture  is  to  be  filled  up  with 
equal  care  and  minuteness.  Where  the  planta- 
tion is  vast,  the  wise  planter  cultivates  in  well- 
chosen  spots.  Be  thankful  that  you  are  not 
called  upon  to  know  every  thing.  For  example, 
the  history  of  Carthage  is  less  important  than 
that  of  Rome ;  the  former,  to  most  men,  only  as 
subsidiary  to  the  latter :  the  one  you  will  cursorily 
peruse ;  to  the  other  you  will  repeatedly  resort 
through  life.  Again,  the  history  of  the  German 
States  may  be  adequately  learned  in  an  epitome  : 
the  history  of  England  and  America  you  will 
study  in  some  detail.  So  again,  in  the  case  of  a 
single  country,  you  may  very  soon  gain  all  yoU 
need  about  the  British  Heptarchy  ;  but  you  will 
dwell  with  assiduity  and  delight  on  the  annals  of 
tne  Reformation,  the  Civil  Wars,  and  Revolution. 
And,  above  all,  you  will  naturally,  and  with 
eagerness,  peruse  almost  every  book  within  your 


THE    mechanic's    STUDIES.  251 

reach,  upon  the  subject  of  our  own  free  institu- 
tions, and  the  struggles  in  which  they  had  their 
birth. 

Fourthly,  With  the  cautions  and  provisions 
given  above,  after  having  mastered  your  outline 
of  general  history,  you  may  safely  consult  your 
own  pleasure,  and  read  wherever  you  have  a 
mind.  When  the  canvass  is  once  prepared  and 
the  great  lines  chalked  out,  it  matters  little 
whether  the  painter  works  upon  the  head  of  an 
Achilles,  or  the  buckle  of  his  armour — provided 
he  keeps  on  working.  Never  did  old  Shakspeare 
speak  more  pregnant  truth  than  when  he  said, 
"  No  profit  grows  where  is  no  pleasure  taken." 
What  we  learn  by  snatches,  in  moments  when 
the  mind  is  warm  and  ductile,  is  most  apt  to 
leave  abiding  traces. 

Lastly,  Be  not  unduly  perplexed  with  the 
vain  effort  to  charge  your  memory  with  mere 
dates.  One  hour  over  a  good  chronological  table 
will  in  this  respect  do  more  for  you  than  months 
of  study.  Often  recur  to  such  a  table  or  chart, 
and  you  will  soon  discover  that  the  great  cardinal 
and  leading  dates  will  fix  themselves,  without  a 
separate  endeavour. 


252  THE    AMERICAN    MECHANIC. 


XLII. 

THE    mechanic's    STUDIES. 
Chronology  and  Geography. 

No  man  can  be  said  to  know  any  event,  unless 
he  knows  when  it  happened  and  where  it  hap- 
pened. The  former  he  learns  from  chronology, 
the  latter  from  geography ;  and  thus  it  at  once 
appears  how  truly  these  two  sciences  were  called 
by  an  ancient,  "  the  two  eyes  of  history." 

Chronology  is  one  of  those  things  which  is 
exceedingly  dry  by  itself,  and  which  cannot  be 
got  by  wholesale.  A  little  familiarity  with  a 
chronological  chart,  table,  or  atlas,  will  be  suffi- 
cient to  give  a  general  idea  of  the  succession  of 
great  periods :  particular  dates  are  best  learned 
by  actual  reference  at  the  time  of  reading  about 
the  event  to  which  they  relate.  In  perusing  his- 
tory, take  care  to  have  by  you  a  good  collection  of 
dates,  and  refer  to  these  with  regard  to  every  im- 
portant occurrence.*     The  more  signal  epochs 

*  Those  who  have  money  to  spend,  may  purchase  the 
valuable  but  expensive  works  of  Blair,  Le  Sage,  or  Lavoisne. 
But  I  will  name  two  books,  which  together  will  cost  two 
dollars,  and  which  contain  all  that  a  common  reader  wiU 


THE    mechanic's    STUDIES.  253 

will  fix  themselves  in  your  minds  without  a 
separate  efibrt ;  and  it  would  be  a  waste  of  time 
and  a  burden  on  the  mind,  to  set  about  the  task 
of  committing  to  memory  lists  of  mere  figures. 
It  will  of  course  happen,  that  the  most  important 
events  will  oftenest  be  referred  to :  and  this  re- 
peated reference  to  the  time  of  their  occurrence 
will  secure  your  recollection  of  the  date.  Thus, 
I  remember  that  the  deluge  was  about  2348  years 
before  Christ;  the  Norman  conquest,  A.  D.  1066, 
the  Revolution,  1688  ;  the  Declaration  of  Ameri- 
can Independence,  July  4,  1776;  and  this  without 
having  set  myself  down  to  learn  these  as  a  lesson. 
By  using  a  few  such  points  of  departure,  one 
may,  at  any  time,  go  a  little  back  or  a  little  for- 
wards, and  fix  with  suflicient  approach  to  accu- 
racy, the  date  of  other  events  in  the  same  period. 
It  is  necessary  to  say  something  more  about 
the  other  eye  of  history — that  is.  Geography — as 
being  both  more  important  and  far  more  interest- 
ing. The  man  who  reads  history  without  geo- 
graphical information,  may  be  compared  to  a 
blind  man  playing  chess.  No  wonder  so  many 
of  our  reading  men  have  an  obscure  and  con- 
desire  :  first,  an  Historical  Atlas,  by  J.  E.  Worcester,  (con- 
taining twelve  charts  ;)  second,  Chronology,  or  an  Introdut- 
tion  and  Index  to  Universal  History,  Biography,  and  Useful 
Knowledge.  New-York,  J.  Leavitt,  1833,  12mo. 
22 


214  THE    AMERICAN    MECHANIC. 

fused  recollection  of  recorded  events,  when  they 
hastened  through  the  several  narratives  without 
ever  discovering  in  what  corner  of  the  earth  they 
took  place.  On  the  other  hand,  when  you  pre- 
sent to  your  imagination  the  exact  scene  of  great 
exploits,  following  your  hero  on  the  map  from 
country  to  country,  and  from  town  to  town,  you 
not  only  furnish  a  new  association,  as  a  crutch  to 
memory,  but  you  add  life,  interest,  and  reality  to 
the  transactions,  and  remember  them  more  as  one 
who  has  beheld  than  as  one  who  has  learned  by 
hearsay. 

Our  schoolboy  recollections  of  geography  are 
odious.  Such  has  been  the  absurd  method  of 
teaching  it,  that  it  is  hard  for  many  persons  to 
overcome  their  disgust,  or  regard  it  as  deserving 
the  name  of  a  science.  The  poor  child  was 
made  to  take  an  unintelligible  book,  full  of  tech- 
nical terms,  and,  with  little  or  no  aid  of  map  or 
globe,  to  get  this  by  heart.  Odd  as  this  may 
seem  to  such  of  my  young  readers  as  live  under 
a  better  dispensation,  this  is  the  way  in  which 
many  of  our  old-fashioned  hedge-schoolmasters 
used  to  teach  geography.  And  the  man  who 
has  learned  it  in  no  other  way  knows  nothing 
about  it. 

In  directing  the  mechanic  how  to  acquire 
geographical  information,  perhaps  my  simplest 


THE    mechanic's    STUDIES.  255 

method  will  be  to  ask  how  one  should  endeavour 
to  give  this  same  information  to  a  child  or  very 
ignorant  person.  It  would  be  the  best  and 
shortest  way,  if  it  were  practicable,  to  take  the 
pupil  some  thousands  of  miles  above  our  earth, 
and  there  to  show  him  the  countries  and  the  seas, 
as  the  planet  revolves  upon  its  axis.  But  as  it 
may  be  long  before  science  can  afford  us  such  a 
facility,  the  next  best  course  is  to  show  the  pupil 
the  same  thing  in  an  humble  imitation.  Let  ►he 
very  first  conceptions  of  geography  be  derived 
from  the  terrestrial  globe.  Here  you  will  learn 
in  such  a  manner  that  you  need  not  unlearn ; 
whereas  there  is  a  never-failing  confusion  in  the 
mind  which,  after  having  conceived  of  the  earth 
as  depicted  on  a  plane  surface,  vainly  endeavours 
in  after  years  to  correct  this  false  impression,  and 
to  imagine  this  parallelogram  transmuted  into  a 
sphere.  What  I  said  of  history  I  now  say  of 
geography :  Begin  with  generals,  and  from 
these  descend  to  specifications  and  particulars. 
Gain  a  comprehensive  view,  first  of  the  grand 
divisions  of  the  globe,  and  then  of  the  principal 
countries ;  and  do  this  from  inspection  of  a 
globe,  or,  where  this  is  wanting,  of  a  good  map ; 
and,  in  the  first  instance,  with  litde  or  no  refer- 
ence to  the  artificial  lines  of  latitude  and  longi- 


256  THE    AMERICAN   MECHANIC. 

tude,  or  the   numerical  dimensions.     You  may 
proceed  to  fill  up  this  outline  from  time  to  time. 

It  is  impossible  to  recommend  too  strongly  the 
practice  of  actually  drawing  rough  maps.  By  |[ 
this  I  do  not  mean  copying  from  a  map,  but 
drafting  from  memory  the  outlines  of  any  region 
which  you  may  be  studying.  There  is  no  other 
absolute  test  of  accurate  knowledge.  Compare 
this  with  a  correct  map,  and  you  will  at  a 
glance  see  where  you  are  in  error.  Even  those 
who  have  no  experience  in  drawing  may  do  this ; 
and  no  instruments  are  needed  but  a  slate  or  a 
black-board. 

Still  it  must  be  remembered,  that  in  a  subject 
so  boundless  as  this,  we  must  expect  to  be 
learners  all  our  life.  The  true  maxim  is — a  little 
at  a  time,  and  often  repeated.  The  grand  secret 
for  making  a  geographer  is  perpetual  reference. 
When  you  read  history  or  travels,  never  be  with<- 
out  your  map ;  and  never  pass  any  important 
name  without  seeking  it  out:  the  search  will 
make  you  acquainted  with  many  particulars  be- 
sides that  of  which  you  are  in  quest,  and  the 
necessity  for  such  reference  will  become  less 
and  less  every  day  you  live.  If,  on  the  other 
hand,  you  endeavour  to  store  your  mind  with 
many  geographical  items  at  once,  from  lists  of 


THE    mechanic's    STUDIES.  257 

uncouth  names,  without  any  interesting  associa- 
tions, you  will  be  wearied  and  disgusted ;  one 
thing  will  jostle  out  another ;  and  you  will  in- 
fallibly forget  nine  out  of  every  ten.  You  must 
learn  the  situation  and  distances  of  places,  just 
as  a  young  salesman  learns  the  prices  of  articles 
in  a  great  assortment :  not  all  at  once,  but  as  they 
come  to  hand.  I  would  not  forbid  the  perusal 
of  geographical  books ;  indeed,  it  is  from  these 
only  that  you  can  derive  the  facts  of  statistical 
and  political  geography  ;  but  the  great  matter  is 
to  know  where  the  spot  is,  and  this  can  be  gained 
only  from  the  map  or  globe. 

The  geography  of  our  own  extensive  and 
growing  country  is  of  unspeakable  importance 
to  men  in  every  line  of  business ;  ignorance 
here  is  really  disgraceful.  You  will  not,  there- 
fore, grudge  the  expense  of  a  complete  Ameri- 
can Atlas ;  and  after  the  labours  of  our  dis- 
tinguished countryman.  Tanner,  you  need  not  be 
at  a  loss  where  to  look. 

Many  persons  are  in  the  habit  of  denominating 
geography  a  dry  study.  When  pursued  after  the 
ordinary  method,  it  is  such  indeed ;  but  when 
learned  in  connexion  with  intefesting  narrative 
and  eventful  travel,  it  becomes  truly  fascinating. 
This  is  80  much  the  ease,  that  to  a  man  of  va- 
22* 


258  THE    AMERICAN   MECHANIC. 

ried  knowledge  and  lively  imagination,  there  is 
scarcely  any  visible  object  which  awakens  more 
pleasing  associations  than  a  satisfactory  map. 
The  lines  and  points  of  the  engraving  are  con- 
nected in  his  mind  with  a  thousand  stirring 
events,  and  the  motley  sheet  spreads  itself  into 
a  pictui*e,  variegated  and  enlivened  with  the 
achievements  of  ancient  and  modern  story. 
Make  but  a  fair  trial,  and  you  will  arrive  at  the 
agreeable  discovery,  here  as  elsewhere,  that  all 
knowledge  is  sweet,  and  that  within  a  prickly 
husk  and  a  hard  shell  there  lies  a  delicious 
kernel. 


THE    mechanic's    STUDIES.  259 


XLIII. 

THE    mechanic's    STUDIES. 

Natural  Philosophy  and  Chemistry. 

The  man  who  lives  in  such  a  world  of  wonders 
as  that  which  we  inhabit,  and  in  an  age  teeming 
with  discoveries  and  inventions,  especially  if  he 
is  one  who  is  daily  called  to  the  performance  oi 
those  experiments  which  we  call  working  at  a 
trade,  must  be  singularly  incurious,  if  he  can  fail  to 
inquire  into  the  properties  of  matter,  the  relations 
of  different  substances,  and  the  laws  of  motion 
and  rest.  All  this  is  nothing  else  than  physics, 
or  natural  philosophy.  Of  this,  every  man, 
whether  he  tries  or  not,  knows  something,  and  no 
man  knows  every  thing.  Here  it  is  that  we  get 
into  the  regions  of  actual  observation  and  experi- 
ment ;  which  are  always  delightful  to  the  inqui- 
sitive mind.  Even  without  books,  and  without  a 
teacher,  many  a  man,  like  Franklin  or  Ferguson, 
has  arrived  at  valuable  discoveries  by  mere  ex- 
amination and  random  attempts.  But  it  is  a  great 
advantage  to  begin  with  principles,  to  learn  the 
laws  which  regulate  all  the  changes  in  nature,  and 


260  THE    AMERICAN    MECHANIC. 

to  master  in  a  brief  and  comprehensive  manner, 
the  discoveries  of  past  ages.  To  make  use  of 
these  scientific  systems,  is  to  avail  ourselves  of 
the  ladder  prepared  to  our  hand,  instead  of  try- 
ing to  scale  the  almost  impracticable  crag  by 
hands  and  feet  alone. 

The  very  name  mechanics  ought  to  have  a 
charm  for  working-men.  How  is  it  possible  for 
them  to  ply  their  tools,  or  even  use  their  balance, 
without  asking  to  know  something  about  the  laws 
of  motion  ?  Especially,  how  can  they  continue 
supine  and  blind,  when  they  are  told  that  the 
same  great  fundamental  law  brings  the  steel-yard 
to  a  poise,  and  whirls  the  planets  in  their  orbits  ? 
The  use  of  a  common  crow-bar  brings  into  play 
the  doctrine  of  the  lever ;  the  same  is  true  of  the 
sledge,  forceps,  and  windlass-bar.  But  it  is  need- 
less to  particularize,  where  every  thing  is  an  illus- 
tration. No  mechanic  can  apply  himself  to  any 
act  of  his  trade  without  exemplifying  the  laws  of 
motion  ;  and  if  men  engaged  in  labour  would  but 
keep  in  mind  those  doctrines  respecting  forces 
which  relate  to  the  processes  in  which  they  are 
necessarily  engaged,  they  would  soon  and  plea- 
santly arrive  at  a  competent  knowledge  of  me- 
chanics. 

The  direct  and  immediate  value  of  natural  phi- 
losophy, to  those  employed  in  mechanical  labour, 


THE    mechanic's    STUDIES.  S61 

is  SO  obvious  as  almost  to  forbid  further  remark. 
In  a  great  number  of  trades,  the  workman  is  ac- 
tually engaged  in  making  machines.  The  worth 
of  these  is  precisely  measured  by  their  confor- 
mity to  philosophical  laws.  Unless  then  the 
workman  knows  something  about  these  laws,  he 
must  be  a  mere  copyist,  or  at  best  a  random  ex- 
perimenter. Any  wheelwright  or  carriage-maker 
may  indeed  imitate  a  given  model,  and  construct 
one  vehicle  exactly  like  another ;  but  it  is  only 
the  artificer  who  has  studied  principles,  or  gained 
some  science,  that  can  arrive  at  inventions,  and 
suit  his  structure  to  emergencies,  and  meet  the 
condition  of  new  roads,  new  modes  of  draught, 
and  peculiar  dangers.  The  common  builder  needs 
an  accurate  acquaintance  with  all  the  topics  con- 
cerning strength  of  materials,  lateral  pressure,  the 
combination  of  forces  at  angular  junctures,  and 
the  strain  and  support  of  arches.  The  clock  or 
watch-maker,  if  more  than  a  mere  tinker,  must 
add  a  little  mathematics,  and  calculate  the  effects 
of  complicated  wheel-work,  and  the  transmission 
of  motion.  The  millwright  and  machinist  must 
not  be  content  to  make  his  shafts  and  cogs  and 
pinions,  or  to  copy  the  gearing  of  those  who  lived 
before  he  was  born  ;  but  he  must  know  how  and 
why  all  these  changes  are  effected,  and  what 
alterations  are  rendered  necessary  by  a  change  of 


262  THJE    AMERICAN   MECHANIC. 

circumstances.  The  business  of  block-making, 
viewed  in  its  principles,  is  almost  a  science  by 
Itself,  involving  whatever  relates  to  pulleys,  fixed 
and  movable,  the  friction  of  cords,  the  operation 
of  wheels,  shafts,  and  rollers. 

In  every  large  factory,  the  mind  of  the  in- 
quiring lad  will  be  attracted  by  the  daily  sight  of 
the  fly-wheel  or  the  governor,  to  examine  into 
the  causes  of  unsteady  motion,  and  the  means  of 
remedying  it ;  the  interference  of  power  and  re- 
sistance, where  one  is  constant  and  the  other  vari- 
able ;  and  the  doctrine  of  virtual  velocities ;  all 
which  he  will  find  to  his  heart's  content,  in  the 
simplest  treatise  on  mechanics.  In  every  sort  of 
employment  which  concerns  damps,  currents, 
aqueducts,  pipes,  pumps,  or  water  in  general, 
nothing  can  be  done  intelligently  without  some 
insight  into  hydrostatics  and  hydraulics.  As  to 
those  numerous  and  important  trades  where  the 
application  of  fire  takes  place  in  conducting  pro- 
cesses, the  philosophy  of  heat  will  render  the 
most  valuable  aids :  such  is  the  case  in  all  that 
concern  the  manufacture  of  metals  and  glass. 
And  indeed  there  is  scarcely  a  branch  of  human 
labour,  even  in  those  pursuits  which  seem  farthest 
removed  from  scientific  research,  where  we  do 
not  observe  the  direct  increase  of  power  derived 
from  philosophical  information. 


THE    mechanic's    STUDIES.  263 

But  leaving  out  of  view  the  mere  profit  of  such 
knowledge,  natural  philosophy  recommends  it- 
self to  working-men  as  a  cheap  and  accessible 
source  of  endless  entertainment.  No  department 
of  study  affords  such  ample  variety,  and  none 
awakens  more  enthusiasm.  When  we  read  the 
lives  of  great  self-taught  discoverers  and  invent- 
ers,  we  find  that  it  was  while  in  chase  of  amuse- 
ment that  they  alighted  on  their  highest  attain- 
ments ;  zeal  for  the  pursuit  itself  conducted  them 
to  their  greatest  gains.  Consider  the  fervid  per- 
severance of  Ferguson  and  Franklin.  Call  to 
mind  the  barber's  boy,  Richard  Arkwrisht, 
whose  name  is  now  associated  with  the  bound- 
less ramifications  of  the  cotton  manufacture.  He 
began,  it  should  seem,  by  amusing  himself  about 
the  chimera  of  the  perpetual  motion ;  he  next 
sought  recreation  in  the  shop  of  a  clock-maker ; 
he  then  entertained  himself  with  constructing 
spinning-machines ;  he  ended  by  becoming  the 
acknowledged  founder  of  a  new  fabric  of  national 
industry,  at  this  time  second  to  no  other  in  the 
British  empire.  It  was  the  entertaining  character 
of  mechanical  experiment  which  beguiled  the 
tedium  of  the  way,  and  conducted  Sir  Richard 
Arkwright  to  wealth  and  honour.  There  is  no 
part  of  science  which  recommends  itself  so  strong- 
ly to  mechanics  of  every  sort,  as  natural  philoso- 


264  THE    AMERICAN    MECHANIC. 

phy.  Nearly  allied  to  their  daily  pursuits,  it 
offers  a  delightful  refuge  from  the  wearings  of  the 
burdened  hours,  and  casts  an  elevating  influence 
over  the  severest  or  dullest  toil. 

Mechanics  of  the  more  active  classes  enjoy  one 
signal  advantage  over  other  men,  in  prosecuting 
the  study  of  natural  philosophy.  Let  me  ask 
special  attention  to  this  remark.  Their  common 
employments  make  it  easy  for  them  to  institute 
experiments,  because,  from  their  possession  of 
materials,  and  their  dexterity  with  tools,  they  are 
able,  at  once,  to  construct  every  kind  of  appa- 
ratus. The  student  at  college,  or  even  the  pro- 
fessor, desires  (we  shall  suppose)  to  put  together 
a  series  of  lenses  or  tooth-wheels,  or  to  erect  the 
model  of  some  mill  or  other  engine.  This  is  ne- 
cessary for  his  experiments.  But  he  is  a  bungler 
at  mechanical  labour,  and  could  scarcely  build  a 
decent  wren-box :  the  carpenter,  the  joiner,  the 
smith,  the  wheelwright,  the  turner,  the  watch- 
maker, on  the  contrary,  can  knock  up  such  a  con- 
trivance in  a  few  hours,  without  even  thinking  of 
it  as  a  task.  The  same  observation  applies  to 
chemical  inquiries.  There  is  no  active  mechanic, 
(of  those  strictly  so  called,)  who  might  not  with 
his  own  hands,  with  little  expense,  fit  up  in  a 
shed  or  garret,  a  laboratory  with  apparatus  suffi- 
cient for  all  the  leading  experiments  in  physics 


THE    mechanic's    STUDIES.  265 

and  chemistry.  And  if  two  or  three,  of  different 
trades,  would  combine,  this  might  be  accoraplisn- 
od  with  completeness  and  elegance.  Will  not 
some  half  dozen  of  my  young  mechanical  readers 
take  the  hint  ? 

All  that  has  been  said  about  natural  philosophy 
is  equally  true,  with  a  trifling  change  of  terms, 
in  relation  to  chemistry.  This  science  regards 
not  the  general,  but  the  particular  properties  of 
bodies ;  with  respect  to  their  mixture  with  one 
another,  mutual  influence,  temperature,  weight, 
and  minor  peculiarities.  The  truths  of  chemistry 
are  involved  in  every  operation  of  the  painter,  the 
dyer,  the  tanner,  the  druggist,  the  distiller,  the 
baker,  the  confectioner,  and  in  innumerable  others 
Indeed  there  is  no  trade,  not  even  that  of  the 
tailor  or  the  shoemaker,  in  which  chemistry  does 
not  play  a  part.  Its  revelations  are  at  once  charm- 
ing and  stupendous,  and  the  science  is  in  its  full 
career  of  discovery  at  this  moment.  The  great 
majority  of  experiments  in  chemistry  may  be  per- 
formed with  apparatus  which  any  joiner  is  com- 
petent to  put  together.  With  such  inducements, 
it  is  really  wonderful  that  young  working-men  are 
not  more  generally  attached  to  this  subject.  The 
young  apothecary,  Humphrey  Davy,  began  his 
brilliant  course  with  perhaps  as  little  external  ia- 
23 


266  THE    AMERICAir   MfiCfiAJflC. 

dication  of  success  as  that  which  is  offered  to  the 
humblest  reader  of  these  lines. 

In  regard  to  the  studies  of  working-men,  I  was 
recently  much  instructed  by  some  hints  from  one 
of  the  most  distinguished  natural  philosophers  of 
our  country.  He  gave  it  as  the  result  of  his  ob- 
servation, that  self-taught  and  aspiring  mechanics 
often  fail  from  the  neglect  of  a  single  caution. 
The  caution  is  simply  this,  that  they  should  not 
attempt  premature  discoveries  or  inventions  in 
general  science,  or  in  departments  remote  from 
their  own  trades,  but  should  sedulously  cultivate 
such  branches  of  science  as  facilitate  their  parti- 
cular handicraft.  Very  important  discoveries  have 
been  made  by  mechanics,  but  these  have  not  been 
so  much  in  general  science  as  in  the  proper  field 
of  the  discoverer's  own  pursuit.  By  a  wise  ap- 
plication of  philosophy,  the  artisan  may  alight 
upon  valuable  and  labour-saving  processes  in  his 
own  business.  On  the  other  hand,  some  work- 
ing-men have  exposed  themselves  to  ridicule  or 
commiseration,  by  vaunting  as  discoveries  those 
things  which  are  absurd,  exploded,  or  long  since 
recorded  in  scientific  works. 

With  these  remarks,  I  earnestly  recommend  to 
mechanics  that  source  of  enjoyment  which  they 
will  find  in  the  natural  sciences. 


THE    mechanic's    LIBRARY  267 


XLIV. 

THE   mechanic's    LIBRARY. 

Almost  every  mechanic  who  can  read  at  all, 
has  some  books ;  in  other  words,  possesses  a 
library.  In  going  from  house  to  house,  I  have 
frequently  amused  myself  with  taking  a  brief 
inventory  of  these  little  collections.  In  many 
houses,  pretty  well  furnished  as  to  other  things, 
one  will  find  on  a  shelf,  sideboard,  or  mantel, 
some  such  collection  as  the  following :  The  Al- 
manac, The  New  and  Complete  Dream-Book, 
The  Universal  Songster,  Life  of  George  Bur- 
rowes,  Gray's  Complete  Farrier,  half  a  spelling- 
book,  and  a  dusty,  incomplete  New  Testament, 
together  with  a  dozen  worn-out  and  odd  volumes 
of  other  works. 

When  there  are  two  ways  of  doing  a  thing, 
and  the  right  way  is  as  cheap  and  easy  as  the 
wrong,  why  should  men  be  left  to  go  astray? 
Let  me  get  the  attention  of  the  apprentice  or 
young  tradesman  on  this  point.  I  can,  perhaps, 
save  him  much  expense,  and  the  still  greater  evil 
of  having  a  worthless  article.     He  will,  perhaps. 


268  THE    AMERICAN    MECHANIC. 

be  ready  to  complain  that  books  are  dear,  that  he 
is  poor,  and  that  many  books  only  confuse  him. 
Observe,  therefore,  I  do  not  recommend  many 
books,  nor  costly  books,  nor  a  number  at  once. 
All  I  want  is,  that  you  should  lay  out  wisely  the 
very  sum,  or  a  mere  trifle  above  the  sum,  which 
you  would  otherwise  lay  out  foolishly.  Pray  be 
aot  too  proud  to  learn  of  one  who  has  already 
made  mistakes,  and  got  a  little  experience. 

One  great  mistake  of  young  working-men  in 
the  purchase  of  their  books  is,  that  they  get  them 
by  chance.  They  take  no  advice,  and  use  no 
foresight.  The  book  they  buy  is  not  so  much  the 
one  they  need,  as  the  one  that  offers  at  the  stall, 
auction,  or  pedler's  basket.  Another  mistake  is, 
the  purchase  of  certain  books  merely  because 
they  are  low-priced.  This  is  an  error  which  you 
would  laugh  at  in  a  schoolboy,  if  he  were  buy- 
ing wares  in  your  shop :  take  care  lest  he  have 
cause  to  laugh  at  you  in  return.  The  cheap 
books  are  in  the  long  run  far  the  dearest.  They 
are  usually  on  poor  paper,  in  poor  type,  and  poor 
binding,  and  too  often  are  but  poor  stuff  through 
and  through.  Instead  of  following  mere  hazard, 
lay  it  down  as  your  maxim,  to  know  beforehand 
what  particular  books  you  need,  and  to  buy  just 
these  in  preference  to  any  others.  What  should 
you  think  of  a  carpenter  who  should  purchase 


THE    mechanic's    LIBRARY.  269 

any  tool  or  material  which  he  might  fall  in  with, 
while  the  indispensable  utensils  and  staple  articles 
of  his  bench  were  wanting  ?  Books  are  to  the 
reading  man  both  tools  and  material.  If  you  say 
that  you  cannot  indulge  in  many,  I  reply,  very 
true,  and,  for  that  very  reason,  see  to  it  that  they 
be  the  best.  In  order  to  prevent  error,  proceed 
as  you  would  do  if  you  were  purchasing  some 
new  material  with  which  you  had  not  been  very 
familiar.  You  are,  I  will  suppose,  a  coach-maker 
in  the  country.  You  are  desirous  of  introducing 
a  variety  of  gum-elastic  fabric  for  tops,  which 
you  have  never  used  yourself.  When  you  go  to 
New- York,  or  Philadelphia,  or  Boston,  for  your 
materials,  you  naturally  walk  round  to  the  manu- 
factory of  Messrs.  A,  or  B,  and  make  inquiries, 
and,  perhaps,  ask  the  aid  of  their  more  practised 
eye  in  choosing.  Do  the  same  in  the  book-line. 
Seek  the  advice  of  some  bookish  man  ;  and  how- 
ever little  he  may  know  about  your  business,  trust 
him  in  his  own. 

Another  mistake  of  young  book-buyers  is,  the 
supposition  that  they  must  fill  their  book-shelf 
at  one  stroke.  He  who  does  this  will  almost 
always  buy  some  trash.  It  takes  time  to  read 
books ;  it  take  time  to  find  out  what  books  to 
read.  Lay  aside  a  certain  portion  of  earnmgs 
for  books ;  let  it  be  sacredly  set  apart  for  this 
23* 


• 

270  THE    AMERICAN   MECHANIC. 

object.  Next  keep  a  list  of  such  books  as  you 
think  you  need  :  examine  this  from  time  to  time ; 
add  to  it  and  take  from  it.  Then  seek  good 
advice  of  a  friend,  as  to  the  best  place  to  buy 
the  book  you  most  need,  the  best  edition  for  your 
purpose,  and  the  fair  price.  I  have  bought  and 
sold  books,  and  have  seen  many  buy  and  sell 
them,  and  I  am  convinced  that  \porking-men  lose 
a  greater  proportion  of  what  they  lay  out  on 
cheap  books  than  of  any  other  disbursement 
they  make. 

Perhaps  there  are  readers  of  these  counsels, 
who  are  ready  to  ask  for  a  list  of  books  proper 
to  constitute  a  mechanic's  library.  There  are 
people,  perhaps,  who  would  freely  draught  you 
such  a  catalogue  at  a  sitting  :  but  it  is  a  respont 
sibility  which  I  dare  not  assume.  To  make  out 
such  a  list  for  every  one,  would  be  almost  as 
quack-like  as  to  prescribe  the  same  pills  for  every 
disease.  I  know  what  would  suit  me,  and  what 
would  suit  this  or  that  neighbour ;  but  to  recom- 
mend for  any  given  individual,  one  should  know 
his  age,  his  temper,  his  talents,  his  tastes,  his  ac- 
quirements, and  even  his  trade.  I  prefer,  there- 
fore, the  method  of  naming  a  few  books  and 
classes  of  books,  which  may  be  got  from  time  to 
time  with  advantage,  adding  some  running  com- 
ments. 


THE    mechanic's    LIBRARY.  271 

The  Bible  should  stand  first  in  every  list :  not 
a  heavy,  square  volume,  on  the  parlour  table,  too 
pretty  to  use,  too  heavy  to  carry,  and  chiefly 
valuable  as  a  register  of  the  births  and  deaths ; 
but  a  real  book  for  use,  of  large  print,  and  solid 
materials.  But  I  have  spoken  elsewhere  of  this. 
A  good  English  dictionary,  of  large  size,  is  in- 
dispensable. Wiser  men  may  do  without  this ; 
but  there  is  scarcely  a  day  in  which  I  do  not  look 
for  the  meaning  of  some  word.  And  until  I  see 
a  better,  I  shall  use  Walker's  Critical  Pronounc- 
ing Dictionary.  The  laws  of  your  State,  and 
the  necessary  forms  of  common  legal  processes, 
and  the  Constitution  of  the  United  States,  should 
be  in  your  shelves.  Bayard  on  the  Constitution 
(rf*  the  United  States  is  an  admirable  little  book. 
In  your  own  particular  trade,  you  should  have 
one  or  two  of  the  best  treatises. 

For  pleasant  historical  reading,  all  your  life 
long,  you  cannot  go  amiss  among  such  works 
as  these,  viz :  Tytler's  Universal  History,  Jo- 
sephus,  Plutarch's  Lives,  Goldsmith's  England, 
Sir  Walter  Scott's  little  histories  of  France  and 
Scotland,  Ramsay's  History  of  the  American  Re- 
volution. To  these  may  be  added  some  history 
of  the  church,  and  good  biographies  of  Penn, 
Washington,  and  Franklin. 


272  THU    AMERICAN   MECHANIC. 

For  poetry,  which  is  quite  as  necessary  and 
as  lovely  as  prose,  buy  Milton,  Pope,  Young, 
Thomson,  Cowper,  Campbell,  Bloomfield,  Mont- 
gomery, Hemans,  and  Wordsworth  ;  and  take 
care  to  procure  large,  fair  copies,  in  good  condi- 
tion, even  if  they  cost  you  twice  as  much.  A 
poem  is  a  piece  of  furniture  for  life,  and  you  will 
wish  to  take  it  on  jaunts  with  you,  to  read  it 
out  of  doors,  and  to  refresh  yourself  with  it  in 
old  age. 

The  publications  of  the  Society  in  England  for 
the  Diffusion  of  Useful  Knowledge,  so  far  as  I  can 
judge,  are  the  best  and  the  cheapest  books  for 
working-men  that  the  world  has  ever  seen.  Their 
•'  Library  of  Useful  Knowledge"  gives  you  the 
whole  round  of  science ;  and  you  may  get  any  par- 
ticular part  by  itself.  Their  "  Library  of  Enter- 
taining Knowledge"  is  a  most  instructive  as  well 
as  most  amusing  series.  Their  "  Penny  Cyclo- 
pedia," and  especially  their  "  Penny  Magazine," 
are  incomparable  family  books.  I  hope  nothing 
may  ever  occur  to  change  my  opinion,  as  at  pre- 
sent I  regard  the  mere  pictures  of  these  works 
as  fully  worth  the  whole  cost,  and  cordially  re- 
commend them  to  the  shelves  of  every  mechanic. 
With  the  exception  of  moral  and  religious  read- 
ing,  and   purely   American    subjects,   there    is 


THE    mechanic's    LIBRARY.  273 

scarcely  any  topic  excluded  from  these  works. 
In  religion,  it  is  scarcely  necessary  to  name  the 
following  works,  which  Christians  of  almost 
every  persuasion  have  approved  :  The  Imitation 
of  Christ,  by  Thomas  a  Kempis  ;  Bunyan's  Pil- 
grim's Progress,  Baxter's  Saint's  Rest,  Mason 
on  Self-Knowledge,  and  Watts  on  the  Improve- 
ment of  the  Mind,  which  is  as  good  in  directing 
the  morals  as  the  studies  of  the  youthful  reader. 
I  cannot  dwell  on  books  of  mere  entertainment. 
Biography,  and  voyages  and  travels,  have  worn 
the  best  with  me. 

Let  me  close  these  desultory  hints  by  declar- 
ing my  belief,  that,  for  the  youth  and  children  of 
a  family,  it  would  not  be  possible  to  lay  out  the 
sum  of  thirty-three  dollars  to  greater  advantage, 
than  by  purchasing  the  Library  prepared  and  for 
sale  by  the  American  Sunday-school  Union.  It 
contains  one  hundred  and  twenty-one  volumes. 
These  are  uniformly  bound,  and  all  ready  for  use, 
in  a  neat  and  convenient  book-case,  which  forms 
a  striking  ornament  in  the  houses  of  many 
economical  book-buyers.  The  reader  needs  only 
to  see  it  to  be  convinced. 

In  all  that  precedes,  I  have  written  with  refer- 
ence to  young  men  just  entering  on  a  course  of 
improvement,  and  somewhat  straitened  in  their 


274  THE    AMEEICAN   MECHANIC. 

means.  More  learned  and  more  wealthy  persons 
will  smile  at  the  simplicity  and  scantiness  of  my 
recommendations  ;  but  even-  these  books,  well 
pondered,  and  often  re-perused,  may  lay  the 
foundation  of  great  and  accurate  erudition. 


THB   STUDY   OP   t»£   BIBLE.  3T5 


XLV. 

THE    STUDY    OF    THE    BIBLE. 

It  will  be  readily  believed  by  my  readers, 
that  I  am  not  disposed  to  undervalue  any  kind 
of  real  knowledge,  or  any  description  of  books. 
Much  of  my  labour  has  been  intended  to  awaken 
in  the  apprentice  and  the  journeyman  a  desire  for 
varied  information.  I  have  recommended  philo- 
sophy ;  I  have  recommended  history  ;  I  have  re- 
commended books  of  entertainment.  For  this 
reason  I  trust  I  shall  be  credited,  when  I  further 
say,  that  there  is  no  philosophy,  no  history,  no 
entertainment,  equal  to  that  of  the  Bible.  This 
is  not  only  my  own  opinion,  after  reading  for 
many  years,  and  in  several  languages,  but  it  is 
the  deliberate  opinion  of  many  of  the  greatest 
scholars  and  wisest  philosophers  that  ever  lived. 

Some  forty  or  fifty  years  ago,  another  senti- 
ment prevailed  among  many  people.  It  became 
fashionable  to  ridicule  the  Scriptures,  to  represent 
them  as  exploded  old-wives' -fables.  This  was 
chiefly  owing  to  the  spread  of  French  opinions, 
which  gained  ground  among  us  in  consequence 


276  THE    AMERICAN   MECHANIC. 

of  our  sympathy  with  an  oppressed  people,  who 
were  supposed  to  be  in  search  of  rational  liberty. 
The  writings  of  Voltaire,  Rousseau,  Volney,  and 
Paine  propagated  these  ignorant,  false,  and  mali- 
cious objections  against  the  Bible,  and  long  after 
the  atheism  and  bloodshed  of  the  French  revolu- 
tion revealed  the  true  tendency  of  these  opinions, 
there  were  some  even  among  our  leading  politi- 
cians, who  upheld  and  preached  them. 

The  case  is  happily  altered.  Here  and  there 
we  may  meet  with  some  gray-headed  and  perhaps 
doting  old  man,  who,  parrot-like,  rehearses  the 
absurd  chimeras  of  Volney,  or  the  ribaldry  of 
Paine ;  or  some  young  mechanic,  who,  despair- 
ing of  any  virtuous  notoriety,  tries  to  distinguish 
himself  by  railing  at  religion.  But  these  cases 
are  rare.  Deism  and  atheism  are  no  longer  the 
mode,  even  among  wicked  men. 

It  is  undoubtedly  true,  that  we  occasionally  find 
in  our  cities  an  infidel  club,  or  an  infidel  book- 
shop. If  the  reader  will  take  the  pains  to  observe 
these  closely  for  a  series  of  months,  he  will  find 
the  following  statements  to  be  true.  First,  these 
clubs  are  composed  of  men  who  have  little  stake 
in  society,  and  litde  permanent  interest  in  the 
place  where  they  live,  being  sometimes  foreigners, 
often  strangers  or  new-comers,  and  always  per- 
sons of  low  character  and  bad  habits.     Secondly, 


THE    STUDY    OP   THE    BIBLE.  277 

the  members  of  these  associations,  and  the  keep- 
ers of  these  shops,  it  will  be  observed,  change 
very  often.  You  will  not  see  many  of  the  same 
faces  where  you  saw  them  a  twelvemonth  ago. 
They  are  short-lived  lights,  like  those  of  brim- 
stone matches.  Thirdly,  if  you  trace  these  people 
to  their  homes,  you  will  find  them  discontented 
and  wretched,  and  you  will  learn  that  they  almost 
invariably  come  to  some  bad  end. 

Let  the  Holy  Scriptures  have  more  of  your 
time  than  all  other  books.  It  is  the  oldest  book 
in  the  world :  surely  you  would  like  to  know 
what  is  recorded  of  the  early  ages  of  our  race. 
It  is  the  most  entertaining  book  in  the  world. 
Even  Voltaire  confessed  that  there  was  nothiig 
equal  for  pathos  to  the  story  of  Joseph.  Of  like 
interest  are  the  histories  of  Abraham,  of  David, 
and  especially  of  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ.  The 
Bible  is  the  book  of  greatest  wisdom ;  even  if  by  the 
term  be  understood  worldly-prudence.  It  is  the 
only  book  which  gives  us  any  certain  knowledge 
of  the  future.  Is  it  possible  for  a  man  to  be  so 
sunk  in  sensuality,  or  so  brutalized,  as  riot  to  care 
to  know  what  shall  happen  to  his  immortal  part 
after  death  ?  The  Bible  will  give  you  this  know- 
ledge. Moreover,  it  is  the  only  work  which  can 
authoritatively  teach  you  how  to  escape  the  punish- 
24 


278  THE    AMERICAN   MECHANIC. 

ment  of  sin,  and  how  to  attain  the  perfection  of 
your  nature. 

,  Take  pains  to  have  in  your  possession  a  good 
copy  of  the  whole  Bible,  in  a  fair  large  type,  and 
in  a  convenient  form.  I  lay  stress  on  these  last , 
particulars,  because  many  people,  for  the  sake  of 
saving  a  few  shillings,  purchase  Bibles  of  cheap 
and  inferior  execution.  If  the  book  is  unwieldy, 
you  will  seldom  open  it :  if  it  is  in  small  print, 
you  will  instinctively  avoid  it,  when  the  light 
IS  imperfect,  or  when  your  eyesight  fails.  The 
best  and  cheapest  editions  are  in  large  octavo,  and 
are  published  by  the  American  Bible  Society,  and 
also  by  the  Friends'  Bible  Association.  At  the 
same  time,  every  one  should  have  a  Bible  suffi- 
ciently portable  to  be  carried  on  journeys ;  and 
every  member  of  a  family  should  possess  his 
own. 

The  following  rules  may  be  useful  in  the  study 
of  the  Scriptures : 

1.  Read  the  Bible  as  the  word  of  God. 
Never  forget  whence  it  comes.  Endeavour  to 
feel  that  it  is  a  message  from  heaven,  and  that 
your  Creator  is  speaking  to  you.  And,  as  you 
read,  implore  the  help  of  its  divine  Author,  to 
open  your  understanding,  and  keep  you  from 
error. 


THE    STITDT   OP   THE    BIBLE.  279 

2.  Read  the  Bible  diligently;  attentively ; 
with  faith  and  obedience.  Perhaps  you  read  the 
Scriptures.'  But  in  what  way?  Much  depends 
on  this.  Some  people  read  them  more  careless- 
ly and  with  less  pleasure  than  the  morning's 
paper. 

3.  Read  the  Bible  every  day .  However  much 
pressed  you  may  be  for  time,  you  may  snatch 
from  sleep  or  labour  time  enough  for  a  chapter  in 
the  Old  and  a  chapter  in  the  New  Testament. 

4.  Read  the  Bible  in  regular  course.  By 
doing  this,  you  will  not  be  in  danger  of  remain- 
ing entirely  ignorant  of  certain  parts.  The  por- 
tions skipped  by  people  who  open  anywhere  and 
read  at  random,  are  often  the  most  important 
parts. 

6.  Employ  every  means  within  your  reach  to 
get  the  true  and  full  meaning  of  what  you  read. 
If  you  have  learned  and  wise  and  religious  friends, 
ask  their  aid.  If  you  have  a  good  commentary, 
make  occasional  use  of  it ;  if  you  have  not,  lay 
aside  a  few  cents  a  week  until  you  get  one. 
Especially  use  the  Bible  itself  as  a  commentary ; 
make  one  place  explain  another.  The  Jews  have 
a  saying,  that  there  is  no  obscure  text  in  the 
Bible  which  has  not  some  light  thrown  on  it  from 
some  other  text.  In  order  to  get  this  light,  take 
care  to  have  a  Bible  with  the  marginal  notes  and 


280  THE    AMERICAN   MECHANIC. 

references,   which  were   made  by  the   transla- 
tors. 

6.  Make  the  Bible  your  study  for  life.  The 
ancient  Romans  used  to  say,  proverbially,  "  Be- 
ware of  a  man  of  one  book :"  that  is,  such  a  man 
will  be  too  wise  for  you.  The  meaning  was, 
that  the  perpetual  re-perusal  and  meditation  of  a 
single  work  gave  a  special  exercise  and  vigour 
to  the  human  powers.  This  is  true  of  the  one 
book  I  am  commending.  I  am  persuaded,  that 
if  a  man  in  trade  were  to  read  every  day  in 
every  month  one  of  the  thirty-one  chapters  into 
which  the  Book  of  Proverbs  is  divided,  he  would 
never  find  one  day  in  which  some  saying  of  the 
wisest  of  kings  would  not  prove  useful  to  him, 
even  in  his  worldly  business.* 

•  The  reader  is  informed  that  several  thoughts  in  this 
essay  will  be  found  more  fully  explained  and  illustrated,  ia 
a  cheap  little  volume,  published  in  Philadelphia,  under  the 
title,  The  Scripture  Guide  ;  a  familiar  introdMtion  to  the 
study  of  the  Bible. 


THE    mechanic's    RELIGION.  281 


XLVI. 

THE    mechanic's    RELIGION. 

So  large  a  part  of  the  American  nation  is  made 
up  of  mechanics,  that  the  opinions,  feelings,  and 
lives  of  this  one  class  will  give  character  to  the 
whole  people  of  the  land.  If  our  working-men 
are  virtuous  and  religious,  we  shall  be  a  happy 
country.  I  have  taken  some  pains,  in  the  pre- 
ceding essays,  to  set  before  my  friends  of  the 
labouring  classes,  the  unspeakable  value  of  sound 
education.  I  now  have  to  add  a  qualifying  re- 
mark of  very  great  importance.  Mere  know- 
ledge, without  morality,  will  never  make  a  nation 
prosperous.  Science  and  literature  may  be  pos- 
sessed, and  have  been  possessed,  by  some  of  the 
worst  men  that  ever  lived.  Knowledge  is  power; 
but  in  the  hands  of  the  wicked  it  is  power  to 
do  evil.  We  may  multiply  books,  and  multiply 
schools,  and  pass  laws  for  education,  until  there 
shall  not  be  an  uninstructed  child  in  all  the  land ; 
but  unless  we  also  provide  for  the  moral  culture 
of  the  rising  race,  these  means  will  be  the  instru- 
ments of  our  destruction.  The  horrors  of  the 
24* 


282  THE    AMERICAN    MECHANIC. 

French  revolution,  which  have  put  back  the 
course  of  free  principles  a  hundred  years,  took 
place  in  no  rude  or  ignorant  corner  of  the  earth  ; 
and  some  of  the  incarnate  demons  who  presided 
at  the  guillotine  and  the  drownings,  were  among 
the  most  intelligent  and  learned  of  their  day.  No, 
let  the  truth  sink  deeply,  education  to  be  a  bless- 
ing, must  be  education  for  the  future — for  the  im- 
mortal state — for  eternity. 

To  leave  generals,  and  come  down  to  indivi- 
dual cases,  the  American  mechanic  should  be  a 
virtuous,  upright,  and  benevolent  man.  I  know 
nothing  but  true  Christianity  which  will  ensure 
this.  Infidels  have  tried  their  hand  at  melio- 
rating the  condition  of  the  labouring  class  ;  they 
have  had  no  effect  but  to  make  them  conceited, 
radical,  violent,  discontented,  factious,  and  idle. 
I  could  wish  that  every  mechanic  had  a  copy  of 
the  "  Radical's  Saturday  Night,"  by  Professor 
Wilson.  The  doctrines,  precepts,  and  examples 
of  the  Bible  afford  the  only  available  rules  for 
happiness.  These  it  is  which  have  thrown  so 
holy  a  light  over  the  cottage  of  the  Swiss,  the 
Scot,  and  the  New-Englander  of  former  days. 

In  recommending  religion,  let  me  not  be  un- 
derstood as  recommending  this  or  that  sect.  The 
Christian  army  is  divided  into  many  battalions, 
differing  in  their  name,  uniform,  colours,  watch- 


THE    mechanic's    RELIGION.  2S3 

words,  and  tactics :  while  they  agree  in  recog- 
nising the  same  master,  and  fighting  for  the  same 
cause,  against  the  same  foe,  and  with  the  same 
arras.  The  reader  of  these  pages,  with  the  Bible 
in  his  hand,  has  already  chosen  for  himself,  or 
ought  to  do  so  without  delay.  In  regard  to  this 
choice  I  would  not  interfere.  Not  that  I  am  in- 
diflerent ;  on  the  contrary,  my  own  convictions 
are  strong ;  but  it  is  no  part  of  my  plan  to  make 
proselytes,  or  even  to  betray  my  partialities. 
The  grand  object  of  this  paper  will  be  attained, 
if  I  can  persuade  the  reader  to  join  himself  to  the 
number  of  tnie  Christians.  And  I  am  willing  to 
describe  the  true  Christian  in  the  words  of  Chief 
Justice  Hale,  that  ornament  as  well  of  the  bench 
as  of  the  church  of  England. 

"  He  who  fears  the  God  of  heaven  and  earth," 
such  is  Judge  Hale's  description  of  the  good 
man,  "  walks  humbly  before  him,  thankfully  lays 
hold  of  the  message  of  redemption  by  Jesus 
Christ,  and  strives  to  express  his  thankfulness  by 
the  sincerity  of  his  obedience.  He  is  sorry  with 
all  his  soul  when  he  comes  short  of  his  duty. 
He  walks  watchfully  in  the  denial  of  himself, 
and  holds  no  confederacy  with  any  lust  or  known 
sin.  If  he  falls  in  the  least  measure,  he  is  rest- 
less till  he  has  made  his  peace  by  true  repent- 


284  THE    AMERICAN   MECHANIC. 

ance.  He  is  true  to  his  promises,  just  in  his 
dealings,  charitable  to  the  poor,  sincere  in  his  de- 
votion. He  will  not  deliberately  dishonour  God, 
although  secure  of  impunity  ;  he  hath  his  hopes 
and  his  conversation  in  heaven,  and  dares  not  do 
any  thing  unjustly,  be  it  ever  so  much  to  his  ad- 
vantage ;  and  all  this  because  he  loves  hira,  and 
fears  him,  as  well  for  his  goodness  as  his  great- 
ness. 

"  Such  a  man,"  continues  Hale,  "  whether  he 
be  an  Episcopalian  or  a  Presbyterian,  an  Inde- 
pendent, or  an  Anabaptist ;  whether  he  wears  a 
surplice  or  wears  none  ;  whether  he  hears  organs 
or  hears  none  ;  whether  he  kneels  at  the  commu- 
nion, or  for  conscience  sake  stands  or  sits ;  he 
has  the  life  of  religion  in  him  ;  and  that  life  acts 
in  him,  and  will  conform  his  soul  to  the  image  of 
his  Saviour,  and  go  along  with  him  to  eternity, 
notwithstanding  his  practice  or  non-practice  of 
things  indifferent. 

"  On  the  other  hand,  if  a  man  fears  not  the 
eternal  God  ;  if  he  can  commit  sin  with  presump- 
tion, drink  excessively,  swear  vainly  or  falsely, 
cozen,  lie,  cheat,  break  his  promises,  live  loosely ; 
though  at  the  same  lime  he  may  be  studious  to 
practise  every  ceremony  with  a  scrupulous  exact- 
ness, or  may,   perhaps,   as  stubbornly   oppose 


THE    mechanic's    RELIGION.  285 

them ;  though  he  should  cry  down  bishops  or 
cry  down  presbytery ;  though  he  fasts  all  Lent, 
or  feasts  out  of  pretence  of  avoiding  superstition ; 
yet,  notwithstanding  these  and  a  thousand  more 
external  conformities,  or  zealous  opposition  of 
them — he  wants  the  life  of  religion." 

It  is  impossible  to  conceive  of  greater  folly 
than  that  of  the  man  who  pleads  want  of  time, 
or  hurry  of  business,  in  justification  of  his  neg- 
lect of  religion.  It  is  bartering  the  greatest  in- 
terest away  for  nothing ;  losing  eternity  for  the 
chances  of  a  moment. 


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